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lOLTEN

fronomical Doom

r ANTHONY RUD

ENACE FROM
E MICROCOSM

Novelette
Worlds
Ithin Worlds

S TORIES

THE CKESSBOAREI OF MARS

A Novelette of Super-Telepathy
By EANDO BINDER

LOST IN TIME

A Novelette of
Dimensional Secrets

By ARTHUR
LEO ZAGAT

f1 RILLING

IIP

A REAL WSLBSR

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©oDdfliiuDefi' Av®,

Name

Local Address..

City

State

THMLLING

WONDER

STORIES

The Magazine of Prophetic Fiction

VOL. 9 No. 3

JUNE, 1937

m THE
NEXT ISSUE

Table of Contents

THE DOUBLE MINDS

A Scientific
Adventure Novelette

JOHN W.
CAI^PBELL. JR.

€®N9yiST
©IF LIFE

A Novelette . of
Laboratory Magic

IANS© BINDER

um m INFINITY

MENACE FROM THE MICROCOSM

By JOHN RUSSELL FEARN U

LOST IN TIME

By ARTHUR LEO ZAGAT 40

THE CHESSBOARD OF MARS

By EANDO BINDER T2

THE MOLTEN BULLET

By ANTHONY RUD J1

DARK SUN

By RAYMOND Z. GALLON 56

DARCONDRA

By RICKARD TOOKER 63

RENEGADE

By J. HARVEY HAGGARD 88

GREEN HELL

By ARTHUR K. BARNES 91

THE BLACK VORTEX

By FRANK BELKNAP LONG, JR 101

o SPECIAL PICTURE FEATURES

A Novelette of
Absolute Space

PAUL ERNST

THE IRON WORLD

A Novelette of
Robot Rebellion

OTIS ADELBERT
KLINE

— ^nd many ether Un-
usual Novelettes and
Stories.

IF—!

By JACK BINDER 87

ZARNAK

By MAX PLAISTED 101

SCIENTIFACTS

By J. B. WALTER 70

® OTHER FEATURES AND DEPARTMENTS

THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY. 10

TEST YOUR SCIENCE KNOWLEDGE 86

SCIENCE QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 115

THE READER SPEAKS 117

THE SCIENCE FICTION LEAGUE 122

THE "SWAP” COLUMN 125

SCIENTIFILM REVIEW ...127

FORECAST FOR THE NEXT ISSUE 129

Jim Dunning, of the year 1938, follows a stratocar of the
future to its landing held. This scene depicts the climax
of Arthur Leo Zagat’s novelette, LOST IN TIME.

Published bi-monthly by BEACON MAGAZINES, INC,, 2* West 48th Street, New TorK. N. T.
N. L. Pines, President. Copyright, .1937, by Beacon Magazines, Inc. Yearly $.90; single copies,
$.15; Foreign and Canadian, postage extra. Entered as second-class matter May 21, 193$, at
the Post Office at New York, N. Y., under the Act of March 3, 1879. Names of all characters
used In stories and semi-fiction articles are fictitious. If a name of any living person or
existing institution is used, it Is a coincidence.

Manuscripts must be accompanied by self-addressed, stamped envelopes, and are submitted at the author’s risk.

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Continue This Startling Personal Revelation in the JUNE Issue of^

A NEW MAGAZINE OF TRUE STORIES FROM LIFE

Many Stories And Features

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patent Position.

.Address,

I T is interesting to study the reactions of
a group of science fiction authors to
different plot stimuli. One newspaper
clipping pertaining to some technical dis-
covery may influence several writers in turn-
ing out stories based on the same general
theme, yet it is pretty certain that all the
resulting stories will be different in scope
and treatment. Why? Mainly because the
idea gleaned from the newspaper excerpt in
each case served as a prod to the authors’
imaginations, made them unleash on paper
a group of individual ideas and observations
they had been subconsciously accumulating
for perhaps many months.

And so it is with our featured stories this
month. Different stories, inspired in a va-
riety of fashions. Here’s the lowdown on
the yarns in this issue-^but make certain
you’ve read them all before consulting this
department !

SUPER-TELEPATHY

T he chessboard of mars, by

EANDO BINDER, carries one of the
most fascinatingly original ideas we have
seen in a long while.'

Here’s how the versatile author explains
the origin of his plot:

CHESSBOARD OF MARS was inspired, so
to speak, by an article in Scientific Ameri-
can some years back which tabulated the re-
sults of ten-year observations on mental phe-
nomena at Columbia University. These tests,
conducted on a strictly scientific basis and
running into innumerable attempts at extra-
sensory transmission of thought, gave rather
clear indication that more than just the law
of averages was- working. In fact, it was
flatly stated that there must be a direct
transference of thought from mind to mind.
The percentage was small, but undeniably
there.

This concession by a comparatively staid
popular science journal to the previously ridi-
culed idea of telepathy was, to me, a distinct
score of imagination versus skepticism or
materialism. A sort of Jules Vernian victory
for pseudo-science, which has long taken te-
lepathy for granted. Therefore, a telepathy
story was in order.

That was the genesis of the inspiration.
The . plot-idea came about more gradually.
I needed a new angle on telepathy, a new
series of causes and effects involving that
mysterious transference of thought radia-
tions, whatever they are, which accounts per-
haps for so much of the unexplainable in
hurpan life. And human history. History —
telepathy*. Somehow they seemed to tag.
Who knows how many of the events in his-
tory have been a result of mental phenomena,
not only those of demented kings but of
psycho-sensitive keystone figures.

But here, I was getting away from science
fiction into philosophical rambling. It needed
an injection of fantasy. History — telepathy —
and what more? Alien control. They were as
incommensurable at first as a square and a
circle, with a tesseract thrown in. Yet even-
tually it worked out. To what degree of co-
herence, though, only you readers can say.

THE VEIL OF TIME

A rthur L. ZAGAT uncovers the veil of
the future centuries in his time-traveling
novdette, LOST IN TIME. Here’s what
he has to say atpout it:

Sometimes a story tells itself to the writer,
as though he were an automatic transmitter
of a message from Beyond the Veil, and in
no measure the creator.

That is exactly what happened with DOST
IN TIME. I had no more idea of what .was
going to happen to Jim Dunning, when he
leaped to the wheel of his yawl In a frantic
effort to escape the threat of the flaming pil-
lar that spewed out of the calm Pacific than
you had when you started reading the manu-
script. And every incident after that wrote
itself fresh on the paper in front of me with-
out forming first in my brain.

Believe it or not, that is the *‘Story Behind
the 'Story'’ of LOST IN TIME. I don't know
whether ' it means nothing, or whether it
means that somewhere, some time, its inci-
dents have happened or will happen; that I
have been the involuntary, unknowing me-
dium of some incredible clairvoyance.

THE SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM

T ^HE black vortex, by FRANK B.

LONG, JR., is an unusual tale of cosmic
phenomena that contains a double idea.
How the story materialized frpm idle specu-
lation into cold print makes interesting read-
ing:

In the BLACK VORTEX I have tried to
clothe in garments of imaginative prose the
stripped bones of two ideas which have fasci-
nated me for some time. Previous speculation
has encumbered the mysterious character of
the space-time continuum and the immense
uncertainty which veils the future of man’s
life on Earth with trimmings which have left
the basic, skeletal framework obscured.
Some of these speculations are enthralling
and I arh grateful for them. But before writ-
ing my story I was compelled to strip them
away, leaving the bones exposed, but not dry.
Bones so fascinating must always drip with
wonder, I do not claim that my garments fit
this bright and wonderful skeleton with cos-
mic precision. It probably looks a bit
cramped in them — ^s it does In the garments
of all of my predecessors. But at least It is
a new suit, a new set of trimmings and pe-
culiarly my own. Jeans and Eddington could
make a more scholarly job of it, but the sub-
ject is fascinating and glorious enough to
challenge the ingenuity of a thousand thou-
sand more obscure and less learned tailors,
and If this little imaginative excursion of
mine — into which I have put a great deal of
reverent reflection and mental elbovv grease
— seriously turns the thoughts of even a few
readers toward what is unquestionably the
sublimest mystery of the Universe, I shall
rest content.

ALIEN LIFE

N othing is so popular these days as
the science fiction story which intro-
duces new and alien forms of life. ARTHUR
(Concluded on Page 12)

0 ifiaitt jyau

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THE STORY BEHIND
THE STORY

(Concluded from Page 10)

K. BARNES' story of Venusian environ-
ment, GREEN HELL, initiates the reader
into a world of biological wonders. The
strange chloro-men, the darting whiz-bang
flies, and the freakish bat-men — Mr. Barnes
has managed to combine them all into a top-
notch interplanetary adventure yarn. And
it was plenty hard work! At least, that's
what we gather from the following letter;

GREEN HELL was simply a natural out-
growth of that age-old and inevitable specu-
lation that always develops when you bring
two scientifiction fans face to face, wind ’em
up, and set ’em going — namely, the possi-
bility of life on planets of the Solar System
other than our own.

Venus has always been a favorite of mine,
with its similarity to Earthly conditions and
its eternal veil of mystery. Yet after a pe-
rusal of most of the recorded observational
and speculative data concerning Venus, I was
struck very 'forcibly by the contradictory na-
ture of the evidence. Scarcely three or four
writers seem to agree on more than a few-
points. 'Well, more for curiosity than any-
thing else, I set down the scant agreed-upon
facts in one column, and the many guesses in
another, and let the old imagination roam.
Given such-and-such surface conditions, what
life-forms might we expect' to develop on
Venus? I imagine two readers out of every
three have at one time or another indulged
themselves in this fascinating pastime. Per-
haps they've even reasoned better than I; if
so, I'd appreciate hearing from them. At any
rate, I figured out what I thought would be
a pretty reasonable Venusian flora (the
fauna I’m saving for another yarn) when it
dawned on me that I had the groundwork for
a story.

By the process of putting two characters
into that situation, making them combat the
problems facing them by science predicated
on contemporary ' ‘“"'lopments, and seeing
what they would do .. .eft by themselves, I
had the story. The plot — adventure on an-
other planet — is far from new, but that type
of yarn will live as long as science fiction,
and will always justify itself either by good
writing, or by well-thought-out sketches of
probable life developments, or by vigorous
action. I prefer the second justification my-
self, and so, I believe, do many readers.

I daresay the inimitable Weinbaum has
outdone me in this sort of thing, but the field
is so vast that there’s plenty of room for
your humble servant to stumble around with-
out treading on the robes of the former king
of scientiflctlbn.

WORLDS WITHIN WORLDS

J OHN RUSSELL FEARN’S^ engrossing
story of intra-atomic life, MENACE
FROM THE MICROCOSM, presents much
food for thought. Here's how the highlights
of this theme were conceived by Mr. Fearn:

It seemed to me before I plotted out MEN-
ACE FROM THE MICROCOSM that the con-
ception of Intra-atomic worlds, though by no
means novel, had not so far been explored in
all its possibilities. I got to thinking of the
far future, when man will, we hope, have
conquered space as well as the planet he lives
on. At this period might it not be possible
that, with space travel accomplished, the
intra-atomic will also have been probed to
its limits? I decided therefore to cast my
story in this far future mould when intra-

atomic travel la as an accomplished fact as
world air flight Is today.

What uses', though, would the micrbcos-
mic. beings make of this easy journeyipg to
and fro? The undying love of conquest la
as surely reflected in the little beings as in
the larger ones, hence the idea that the nov-
elty of the accomplishment might be turned
to really grim purpose. What, purpose? Ob-
viously as a method for sending spies, in-
finitely reduced in size, to the world of the
Big, whereupon with their super-mentalities
they could overthrow not one world but sev-
eral. So, came the Idea of the savage, con-
quering "Qkiaris, turning smallness and hyp-
notic power to the best possible use in the
hope of ultimate victory, only to be defeated
by an accident.

There is, of course, an inconsistency in the
story in regard to Time. As we know it at
present it is assumed that nearly one thou-
sand million years passed on an electron while
but a millionth of a second passes on Earth.
It is assumed, therefore, in this future age,
that man has found ways and means of
bridging the gap, or else has found the truth,
dimly hinted at by mathematicians of today,
that Time does not really exist.

In either event there Is not the slightest
reason to suppose but what microscopic be-
ings might take advantage of the conquest
of size in the manner I have depicted.. It
gave me great pleasure to. debate the possi-
bilities while I wrote it; I hope that some
of you at least will have an equal pleasure
In reading it.

ASTRONOMICAL DOOM

A cosmic collision is a familiar science.

fiction situation, all right. But- along
comes ANTHONY RUD with his breath-
taking story, THE MOLTEN BULLET,
and the result is one of the most dramatic
tales we have ever seen. Read this story
first — then this letter;

Astronomy inspired my yarn. Just within the
past" few years several hair-raising phenom-
ena of the heavens have been suspected and
fairly well proved by astronomers. The great
black spaces of Void, for Instance, are not
vacanti^ but now have been shown in many

cases to hold sinister black stars and planr
ets, bubbling and surging with terriffle in-
ternal heat — but heat which produces only
black (infra-red) light, which cannot be de-
tected by human eyes!

Astronomers are revising everything. These
great bodies of the skies perhaps explain
some of the wild eccentricities of other
heavenly bodies. They may cause collisions,
great readjustments of many solar systems
^ — Including our own. They explain why com-
ets and asteroids sometimes fail to appear
on time, or even why some disappear forever.
They are drawn into collision and utterly de-
molished, with the unfortunate targets they
strike !

This thought, plus a knowledge of scien-
tists: — ;Who are men with a passion for their
own work and the rightness of it, which in
many transcends any fear of death — lay be-
hind my story.

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Within five minutes the atomic freighter merged from tininess to its complete size.

WSl^-fciDin) Woirldi

Author of "Brain of Venus,” "Mathematica Plus,” etc.

CHAPTER I
Men of Uk

K erry justin, pilot lv- 2 of

the Interatomic Corporation,
looked in puzzlement at his
route-checkers. Up to now everything
had been proceeding smoothly. He, his
partner, and the machine itself had de-

creased steadily downward from Earth,
had crossed the electronic gulf of space,
had conformed exactly to all the usual
influences of the Dunsite plates. Theje
had been the same odd sickness and
paralysis occasioned by the reduc-
tion. But now the small freight ma-
chine, carrying merchandise from
Earth to Micropolis, was being drawn

aside relentlessly by an immensely su-
perior gravitational field.

Justin’s gaze swung to his observa-
tion screens; his lips tightened as he
beheld the cloudy, yellow world of Uk
ahead of him. Planet of menace, bear-
ing on its drably unpleasant surface the
sworn enemies of Kraj.^

“Say, Kerry, what do you make of
it?”

It was Lance Albridge who spoke,
the massive co-pilot of the machine and
Kerry’s closest friend. His pugnacious
face was strained with sudden alarm;
hairy fists were clamped on the

switches of the propulsion engines.

“Damned if I know!” Justin stil
stared perplexedly into the screens
“This is the first time we’ve been de
toured while heading for Micropolis
Normally there’s little gravitational ef
feet from Uk; this time we’re beinj
swung aside. The whole thing is ob
viously scientifically arranged. I don’
like it, Lance 1 The Ukians are abso
lute devils according to all accounts
But why they want us heaven aloni
knows. Try your left-sector propulsioi
plates and see what happens. We migh
pull away.”

H^inniiKniDty h llmp(grikd by Atemk

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

“O. K.” Albridge’s hands threw in
the switches, then grasped the heavy
steering mechanism. It moved easily
enough; the meters revealed the surg-
ing of power— but otherwise nothing
happened.

“Hell!” he gasped out. “Whatever
it is that’s dragging us has got our pro-
pulsor system licked to blazes! The
limit of our power makes no impres-
sion at all.”

Justin frowned.

“Better close your switches and cut
the power out. No use .wasting it.
These Ukians are trapping us for some
reason ; perhaps they think they can get
sorrie ' information from us about the
Krajians. If so, they’ve got another
think coming.”

With that he turned actively aside
to the machine’s defensive equipment,
fingered the deadly molecular gun, ma-
jor weapon of destruction, lovingly. If
it was fight the Ukians wanted they’d
get it!

Albridge cut off the power, then
joined his friend by the observation
screens. His blue eyes glanced at the
deadly gun.

“Going to pepper ’em?”

Justin nodded grimly.

“If I get the chance,, yes.” Then he
became silent again.

The machine, pursuing now a per-
fectly normal space flight, was travel-
ing with ever increasing velocity
tpward the yellow planet. Far away
to the right lay Kraj itself, a dark blue
ball in the infinity, receding as the
distance from it increased toward Uk.

The two men stood silent, waiting
tensely, staring into the observation
screens. As yet it .was impossible to
use their weapons ; the dense clouds of
Uk shielded the planet’s surface com-
pletely. Within twelve more minutes
they were cutting through them. They
stood, set-faced, waiting for the appar-
ently inevitable crash — then to their in-
finite relief the ship suddenly slackened
in its onward rush, lost speed rapidly,
and finally dropped as lightly as a
feather from the clouds to the atomic
planet itself. A jerk, and then the ma-
chine was still.

Albridge glanced at the exterior in-
struments and took their readings.

“Atmosphere and density same as

Kraj,” he reported. “You stay here and
use the mol-gun ; I’m using my own
weapons.” He jumped over to the air-
lock and swung the massive-hinged op-
erculum inward, gazing out on the
landscape. Then he took down his mag-
netic gun from its holster and sur-
veyed the scenery from the safety of
the ship. Justin swung his gun around
and opened up a firing sector in the
wall, leaving free passage for the dead-
ly radiations the moment firing became
necessary.

Then a voice spoke, in a pidgin form
of the Krajian language.

“Stand exactly where you are! Take
your hands from your guns !”

Justin obeyed, turned to face the
commander. Albridge’s gun dropped
with a crash. In silence the two stared,
for the first time, at the men of Uk.

They were not unlike the Krajians —
bulbous-headed, blue-skinned, and pos-
sessed of four arms. There were the
same flapping gashes of niouths, the
same absence of nose and hair. One
large, faceted eye reposed in the center
of the unearthly faces.

I N all there were six men present, at-
tired in one-piece scarlet tunics,
with bright belts loaded with sci-
entific weapons and instruments about
their waists. In each of their four hands
they held deadly weapons of their own
science, unlike anything the puzzled
Earthmen had ever seen before, even
on Kraj.

“What the devil is the meaning of
this?” Kerry Justin demanded curtly,
after a while, using the language of
Kraj. “You have no right to waylay
an Earth-Micropolis trading vessel!”
“It is not a question of right when
the men of Uk desire something,” the
leader answered coldly. “My name is
Kanos. You may know of me from our
enemies bn Kraj?” Justin nodded
grimly.

“I know of you all right. They call
you the celestial butcher!”

“Do they really? On that case you
will be aware of the fact that our sci-
ence is completely merciless, devoted
only to achievement and ultimate de-
struction of the accursed men of Kraj.
We waylaid you both for a very defi-
nite purpose — not because it happened

MENACE FROM THE MICROCOSM

to be you in particular, but because you
were the first to appear on the scene
within the range of our magnetic plates.
That was how we snared you here —
artificial gravitation, or magnetism. We
watched your progress, of course, by
the very ancient method of spatial tele-
vision. However, we have use for you
both.”

“By all the planets, if I could only — ”
Albridge began wrathfully.

“Silence! You are not dealing with
brute force, but with science of a very
high degree. One false move and you
will be subjected to anesthesia — not
death, because you are needed. Come
here, both of you. The fourth dimen-
sional machine which gave us entry to
this vessel is about ready to reverse ac-
tion and return us to the city. Stand
here — instantly !”

With compressed lips the two

obeyed. They knew better than to ar-
gue with the men of Uk. Hardly had
they stood in position than the fourth
dimensional machine reversed its influ-
ence and the two found themselves
suflering sensations akin to those in
a rapidly descending elevator. An
opaque fog, vaguely luminous, writhed
about them and their captors. When
at last it cleared away they were within
the central scientific laboratory' of
these strange and determined people.
Towering above them was the shining
mass of the fourth dimensional ma-
chine itself.

In silence they regarded the incom-
prehensible machinery, tried vainly to
figure things out. A jab from the lead-
er’s weapon sent them moving forward.
They paused at last in the center of the
enormous edifice at a sharp command.
Others of the race, as expressionless

IT WAS in 2742 that Professor Dunstan discovered the secret of interatomic travel.

His metal, Dunsite, was the product of nearly fifty-five years of sustained research
and, when subjected to various electrical fields, was found to be capable of reducing
its electronic orbits to absolute minimum, bringing about a state of near coincidence
between electron and proton. If necessary, this i ^ ~ould be continued indefinitely,
beyond the annihilation of electron and proton into energy and into the next stage
of electrons within electrons, a new-found condition of ultimate matter, existing
within the released energy itselfr'

Everytl'mg within the influence of Dunsite decreased in proportion as the metal
itself decreased, both organic and inorganic. Humans found themselves capable of
sinl^g within a machine of Dunsite to a point far less than that of an electron —
finding that electron to be a planet — by the process of the electrons of their own
bodies merging, upon annihilation, into the second stage of electronic smallness.
Beyond a brief period of unconsciousness there were apparently no ill-effects. Only
weight was lost steadily as the size decreased, but since at the journey’s end every-
thing was found to be relative, there was little cognizance of this.

In 2750 the first interatomic trip was made from Earth. An immense unit, com-
prized within its massively shielded core, of an infinitesimal piece of potassium was
used, and the first machine descended into its mysteries — to find a solar system of
nine worlds, corresponding with the nine electrons of potassium, wherein the protonic
nucleus became a sun.

Seven of the worlds were barren. The eighth, and principal one, was found to
be known as Kraj, populated by a scientific race about equal with Earth, while the
iwth planet — and nearest neighbor — ^known as Uk, was populated entirely by one-
time denizens of Kraj, colonists, turned now to bitter enemies of their mother planet
by the persistent influence of scientific achievement and desire for conquest.

So, between Kraj and Earth there sprang up trade and steady communication.
The potassium unit was guarded with infinite care. Within the metal’s confines were
several molecular universes, but of them all, though they teemed with worlds, only
Kraj and Uk appeared to hold life.

The Interatomic Travel Corporation came into being, possessing— on Earth — one
Raymond Price as its chief engineer. The Corporation owned a large fleet of Dunsite
machines, varying from passenger liners to scouts and freighters, all of them pos-
sessed of the necessary apparatus to sink into unknown smallness, in the state beyond
electronic electrons even, should the occasion ever arise — which, so far, it had not.

Interatomic travel to Micropolis — as Earthlings called the chief city of Kraj

finally became as popular as old time world tours. Even the conquest of space, an
accepted fact now for more than three hundred years, paled into insignificance. The
interstellar spaces were known; but the microcosmic were not.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

and hideous as their fellows, came from
the remoter reaches of the colossal
place as Kanos curtly summoned them.

HE two Earthmen waited tensely*
flsts clenched, as the beings gath-
ered about them.

“If ideas for an attempted escape are
forming in your minds you may as well
dispense with them,” Kanos remarked
grimly, lowering his weapon. “You
are being held to the gijbund by mag-
netic devices, similar, on a smaller scale
to the ones which trapped your space
machine. I believe you are aware that
the Krajians are our sworn .enemies?
That they have so far beaten every ef-
fort we have made to subdue them?”
“Go on!” Justin snapped. “Get it
over with, can’t you?”

“We realize the impossibility of try-
in to beat the Krajians by ordinary
methods. The only way is to learn all
their plans by secret methods. To that
end we have studied the manner by
which your ships cross from the big to
the small and have succeeded, by dupli-
cating the system in living beings —
ourselves, in narrowing down our own
bodies to infinitesimal proportions.
Further, our bodies, when treated by
various antitoxins, can live in human
blood-^which, of course, is a mixture of
water, fibrine, albumen, phosphates and
so forth. Our size can be decreased so
that we become smaller than blood cor-
puscles themselves. You will realize
thereby how many of us could be en-
compassed within two human beings
the size, say, of you two I”

“Good God, you don’t mean — ” Al-
bridge began hoarsely,

“I mean that you two will be used
to carry some fifty thousand of our race
back to earth in your bodies! Your
normal blood will be drained off and a
substitute supplied, in which our mi-
croscopic race will live. Your bodies
will live long enough t,b take you back
home, but your minds will be dead to
your normal will. Therefore, hypnotic
orders will be impressed on your brains
before you leave. When you arrive
back on Earth your bodies will burst
asunder, mainly because the artificial
blood you will be supplied with will at
that period, become highly oxygenated

and thereby explode, releasing our fel-
lows. They will escape, unseen, each
in possession of their own normal will-
power.”

“But your purpose behind this
ghastly idea?” Justin demanded
thickly. '

“Our purpose? Simple enough.
Thousands of people travel every
Earthly month between Micropolis
and Earth. These people will have one
of our number inside, all unaware of
the fact, commanding their brains
what to do. They will quarrel with the
Krajians and precipitate, no doubt, a
war. On Earth we shall set men and
women against each other by the same
method and make them exterminate
each other. Ultimately, when the hu-
man .race is wiped out, we shall take
over control, thereby gaining both Kraj
and Earth. Other Earthmen will be
snared down here as you have been to
take still further supplies of our fellows
to continue the work on Earth ; • still
other Earthmen will be captured as
you were and used for vivisectional
purposes. That is highly necessary, so
that we can study earthly organisms
and learn how to convert ourselves
when the time comes for us to control
Earth as well as Kraj. You under-
stand?”

“You can’t do it!” Albridge shouted
desperately. “It’s massacre — hypnotic
massacre!” He struggled desperately
and futilely to break free of the mag-
netic radiation pinioning him. “You
can’t, I tell you!”

“The operation will proceed,” Kanos
announced implacably, and made a mo-
tion to his assembled men.

The magnetism was released and the
two Earthmen promptly seized. They
gave a brief but futile account of them-
selves, then they were whirled help-
lessly toward the opposite end of the
laboratory.

Without pause they were taken to
two of a series of operating tables and
there strapped immovably upon them.
They shouted, they cursed, they
strained muscles and thews to the ut-
termost, all to no avail. Then anesthet-
ic cones were clapped over their faces
and their senses reeled into uncon-
sciousness.

MENACE FROM THE MICROCOSM

With the same ordered precision,
Kanos directing the proceedings, the
surgeons moved to an immense trans-
parent bowl filled with blue fluid, and
rapidly connected to it a series of im-
maculately clean pipes, all leading to
one main nozzle of glitteringly bright
metal. Within the bowl, reduced to
infinite smallness, alive and healthy
within the elements of human blood —
blue only because of the highly oxygen-
ated content — reposed the - fifty thou-
sand Ukians.

“Proceed!” Kanos ordered impas-
sively, and immediately his assistants
prepared for action^ laid their gleaming
scientific instruments on the tables.

D raining tubes were placed into
position, surgically spotless
drains were opened in the floor. Then
the operation began, proceeded with
steady, skilful speed that betokened
the supreme knowledge of these master
surgeons. First the hearts of the two
Earthmen were removed and trans-
ferred to a machine filled with solution,
in the depths of which they continued
to beat steadily, supplied by artificial
arteries.

Once this was done every drop of
blood in the two men’s bodies was
drained off through the tubes and down
the grids, afterward being replaced by
seventy-five percent synthetic blue
fluid from an enormous nearby tank,
and the remaining fifteen percent made
up from the contents of the bowl. Then
the hearts were replaced, skilfully re-
connected, and set beating. The in-
cisions instantly healed under powerful
solutions. After being treated with
strong stimulants Justin and Albridge
began to stir slowly out of unconscious-
ness.

Presently their bleary eyes swung to
Kanos, but in their respective gazes
there was no trace of recollection. They
were hardly even conscious of the fact
that they were alive ; their minds were
completely in the grip of the master
of Uk.

“Understand, Earthmen, that you
are merely motivated machines — flesh
and blood instruments of our pur-
poses,” he said implacably. “Within
each of your bodies are twenty-five

thousands of our race. You will drive
them to Earth. That is all. Release
theml”

The straps were unbuckled. Dazedly,
heavily, the two got to their feet and
stood momentarily passive, then they
turned and walked mechanically from
the laboratory, walked steadily through
the various corridors and at last into
the open. Straight as dies, eyes fixed
in front of them, they moved toward
the spot where the freighter atomic
machine lay in the yellow grass of this
strange and terrible world.

Still with the motions of automatons
they passed within the machine
through the open air-lock, closed it,
then moved to the control board.
Within a few minutes the ship was
hurtling upwards towards the yellow
clouds, passed through them, and on-
wards into the intra-atomic space,
driving steadily back toward Earth
with the queerest menace that had ever
arisen from the realms of the infinite
small.

CHAPTER II
Murder Lust

R aymond price, the young en-
gineer-in-chief of the Interatomic
Corporation, looked up sharply as the
warning arrival gong suddenly rang
stridently.

It was the signal for his sub-en-
gineers to get busy immediately and
obey his orders. He turned to the
microphone connecting him with the
instruction loudspeakers dotted in
various parts of the mighty terminal
building — perhaps one of the most
strangely designed buildings on Earth,
and gave brief, pointed orders.

The terminal's dimensions were stag-
geringly large, seeming more so by
reason of the emptiness of the place.
Price’s position, within a small raised
building not unlike a railway signal
box, commanded a view of the entire
place in all directions.

Running on either side of the vast
sunken pit from which the atomic ma-
chines departed and arrived, were the

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

platforms, while in the center of the
pit, automatically controlled, lay the
priceless potassium imit containing
multi-atomic universes, wherein lay
the worlds of Uk and Kraj.

The arrival gong, actuated by elec-
trical repercussion when a vessel was
on the borderline of departure or ar-
rival, was the signal for the unit cas-
ings to be slowly sunken into the metal
floor. As they sank a blurry, misty
speck came into being, gradually tak-
ing form, appearing from microscopic
size to full dimensions, until, within
five minutes of the gong’s -ringing the
atomic freighter merged from tininess
to its complete size. Price frowned as
he surveyed the machine, then turned
to his nearest assistant.

“Say, what in hell is 45-Z doing back
so soon? Should be tomorrow.”

“Right enough.” The assistant sur-
veyed the schedule sheet. “Fourteen
hours forty tomorrow.”

Price said no more. He left the con-
trolling office at a run and hurried
along the platform. The door of the
ship was already opening and Kerry
and Albridge came staggering out.
Price stopped dead; the workers about
him shouted in horror.

“Kerry I” Price gasped hoarsely,
staring at the glassy-eyed wreck who
had so jovially departed not fifty hours
before. “Kerry 1 Lance! What on
earth has happened to you?”

Neither of the two answered. Instead
they seemed to grow larger! An ex-
pression of misery, the dumb, speech-
less misery of a tortured animal, was
on their faces.

Price gripped Justin’s wrist, then fell
back astounded. It was no solid flesh
he touched ; instead a bloated mass like
an inflated bladder. He stared unbe-
lieving, — then stepped back in sheer
horror. The two men were still en-
larging, and — suddenly and amazingly
both of them ripped asunder!

Their flesh tore like rotten rubber,
stripped to the bone. The purple fluid
that had taken the place of normal
blood gushed out in a flood, poured
along the platform and into the unit-
pit. Albridge’s mighty form staggered,
collapsed limply. Not a second after-
ward Justin followed suit. His body,
a mere bag of bones draped with crin-

kled, deflated flesh sagged heavily over
the platform edge and vanished in the
pit itself.

“God !” Price breathed, sickened and
nauseated. He looked about him help-
lessly, then down at the spreading pool
at his feet. With a sudden terrific ef-
fort he took possession of himself.
“Quickly!” he ordered. “Express am-
bulance! Send orders for the Atomic
Patrol to make immediate investiga-
tion of all atomic ways leading to
Micropolis! Something is devilishly
wrong.”

Activity swept into the startled
group, Price himself in the midst of it.

He hardly remembered how he got
through the remainder of the day. The
horror of his friends’ deaths and the
mystery behind them was still dinning
through his brain.

The purple fluid was cleared away
after investigation ; it revealed nothing.
The remains of the two men were
rayed out of existence, and the Atomic
Patrol set off to investigate. But it
was too late then. The fifty thousand
invaders were already abroad, released
from their incredible transport, putting
into action their subtle, unseen plans
for the conquest of two worlds.

T he Atomic Patrol never returned.

What fate it encountered in the un-
known spaces of the small could not be
imagined, and indeed Price had little
time to conjecture. Something was al-
ready strangely amiss in the usually
perfectly running methods of New
York. In three days a change had come
about.

From every quarter of the city came
news of inexplicable happenings, of
genius changing to insanity, of love
turning to hate, of men and women do-
ing things they normally would have
shuddered at. Some malevolent and
unknown disease was infecting the
heads of industry and power and yet,
so far, mysteriously missing the
masses. Always it started in the same
way, by a peculiar cut occasioned some-
how on the flesh, followed by a strange
mental metamorphosis wherein the vic-
tim lost all touch with himself and in-
stead became guided, apparently, by an
infinitely stronger will than his own.
In consequence of these vast and ter-

MENACE FROM THE MICROCOSM

rible changes ordered routine and
method began to crumble at the foun-
dations. Price in particular found him-
self totally unable to keep track of his
schedules, or of the departure and ar-
rival of vessels. Everything, it seemed,
had gone abruptly mad. People were
leaving New York by the thousands,
nearly every hour of the day and night.
Some came back and burst in the same
horrible fashion as had the two pilots.
Others never came back. Pilots refused
to take orders; they were clearly im-
movably mesmerized. Price tried to in-
terfere and narrowly escaped violent
death. Desperate, he appealed to the
Government, with no result. The
rulers of the country were as criminally
insane in their methods as all other
controlling bodies.

Business came to a standstill; crime
flourished as never before. Time and
time again Price tried to figure the rid-
dle out, sent messenger scouts to Mi-
cropolis, demanding to know the
reason for it all, but the messengers
never returned.

Then the strange malady spread to
England and that indeed started dis-
aster in real earnest. For no reason
whatever, apart from the sheer desire
for murder and death, the British de-
cided to war with America, so there
began the most fiendish battle of exter-
mination in Earthly history. The
masses themselves, unaffected in the
main by the disease, as yet, were all
against it, but the iron control of their
blood-mad leaders forced them into the
war before they could realize what was
happening. And, after a day of two,
Europe added her forces to the strug-
gle.

In less than a week after Justin’s and
Albridge’s mysterious arrival from the
atomic universe the world was madly
at war; the masses were now infected
with a craving for slaughter and battle.

Finally, forced out by brute control.
Price gave up the task of trying to gov-
ern the destinies of the Interatomic
Corporation, but he did wonder why
nobody, for all their insanity, endeav-
ored to attack the potassium unit. This
always remained untouched. His mood
was bitter, resentful. On the following
day he had to join up and add his small
share to the unreasoning chaos.

“The thing’s so — so sudden!’’ he de-
clared feelingly to Irene Edwards, his
fiancee, while having cocktails with
her at her modernistic apartment in the
sriiart quarter of the city. “Something
has happened out in intra-atomic space
to cause all this, but I’m damned if I
know what. I’ve seriously thought of
taking one of the emergency ships and
finding out for myself. So far nobody
seems to know about those, and I’m
the only one with the lock combina-
tion.”

“And why don’t you?” the girl asked,
her steady dark eyes upon him.

“Because I realize I wouldn’t stand
a chance,” he replied moodily. “If the
whole Atomic Patrol has failed what
good could I do? Alone? Besides,
what would be the use? War is here!
Before I could learn anything and get
back the world would be destroyed !’’

S RENE said nothing, but her dark
head inclined in acquiescence.
“There’s so many things I can’t un-
derstand,” Price went on worriedly.
“The way tlie machine pilots behave,
for instance. They’ve been smitten
with this disease, too, yet it hasn’t
changed them into criminals like the
rest. Instead they simply go on as be-
fore. The only difference is that they
won’t obey orders and tirelessly go on
driving machines to the atomic uni-
verse and back again, presumably to
reach Micropolis. Thousands of people
will be gone by the end of a month —
if there is any humanity left by then.
But what is it all for?”

“Are you sure it is Micropolis that’s
behind all this?” the girl asked quietly.
“What else can it be?”

“But it’s against their interests to
quarrel with Earthmen. 'What about
the rest of their system? Uk, for in-
stance?”

“I’ve thought of that. It’s the only
other planet populated — but they’d
never attack us in this fashion. They
want to overthrow Kraj, yes — ^but not
us.”

“Suppose, though, that they’ve some-
how overwhelmed Micropolis and are
striking at us with a view to future
conquest, or something of that sort?”
Price shook his head slowly. .

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

“No, that doesn’t fit in somehow.
The people of Kraj are far ahead of
those of Uk in any case. You know
that as well as I do.’’ He stopped and
shrugged. “I guess there’s nothing we
can do, Irene. I’m on the verge of join-
ing up, and you’re to be in the women’s
section the day afterward. It’s the part-
ing of the ways. And to think we reck-
oned we’d outlawed war for all time!’’

T hat same night, just after eleven
o’clock, war came into the heart of
New York.

Although the populace had to some
extent been expecting it, they were cer-
tainly not prepared for such a terrific
display of military power. Overhead
fleets rained bombs on the metropolis;
below, invaders were surging in a mad,
murder-driven multitude through the
streets. The air was hideous with the
din of heavy artillery, the roars of mo-
tors, explosions and disintegrators, and
the yelling of human voices.

Even more incredible was the fact
that this insane tide was not sharply
defined into attackers and defenders.
Both were mixed up together, each
fighting the other. Americans were
slaying Americans, and British, British-
ers. The thing was mad, an all-con-
suming lust for slaughter without sense
or reason.

Price, who had left Irene’s apart-
ment not an hour before the major
drive, was packing his clothes for the
next day’s departure to the war when
the sounds of battle reached him. The
girl was the first concern that flew to
his mind. He must find her — rescue
her from the insane mob before they
tore her limb from limb.

He swung away from the window,
then staggered slightly at a sudden
wave of intense giddiness. Almost sub-
consciously he looked down at his
hand ; it was smarting sharply. Funny !
He hadn’t remembered scratching it
like that. The blood was oozing gently
from a long incision on his thumb. Sub-
consciously he knew that he had been
stricken down by the mysterious dis-
ease, but so rapidly was his mentality
being overcome by the force of the min-
ute creature that had entered his body,
he was losing a grip oh his normal will.

In the space of fifteen minutes he was
no longer the normal Raymond Price,
but a murder-mad fiend like the , rest
of the swarming hordes. He still real-
ized he must find Irene — but not in the
same fashion as before. He must find
her, yes — and exterminate her. Not
only her, but everybody who got in his
way!

'This was the only thought in his
mind as he left his apartment and went
through the main streets toward her
home. Furiously he battled his way
through the hordes of people surging
in the roadway outside, people armed
with knives and all the dangerous im-
plements they could lay hands on.
Twice he barely missed destruction,
then he reached the vicinity of Irene’s
apartment. About the place surged
swarms of yelling, armed men and, in
the midst of them, along with many
other hapless men and women, Irene
herself, held in an iron grip.

Her clothing was torn and rumpled,
her dark hair disordered. Her expres-
sion of utter terror changed when she
caught sight of Price’s blood-streaked
figure before her. Her eyes - lighted
with sudden hope.

“Ray !’’ she shouted hoarsely, striving
vainly to tear free from the merciless
grip on her arms. “Ray! Save me!
They’re taking me away — to Micropo-
lis! I must — Oh, Ray — ’’ She fell
forward, jerking and straining.

Price grinned ghoulishly at her,
leaped toward her. Whatever it was
that was in his mind — and probably
it was murder — never materialized.
Something struck him violently on the
head and he pitched helplessly into
darkness.

CHAPTER III
Yuk

P RICE came to with an aching
head, ’ looked about him in the
damp darkness of early morning.

The yelling hordes, the massacre of
the previous night, had ended — or else
passed further westward. The sky was
free of planes; the bombardment had
ceased. In the waxing light he beheld

MENACE FROM THE MICROCOSM

the corpses of slain men and women,
shattered buildings, gaping craters in
the road.. As fie got weakly to his feet
it came to him that his escape had ob-
viously been because he had been be-
lieved dead and not merely stunned.

His hand went to his still slightly
bleeding head; he winced painfully.
Then suddenly, like a pouring tide, fie
remembered what had happened — his
insanity — Irene’s desperate pleas — the
blood-mad devils who had captured
her. Micropolis !

“God!” he breathed huskily. “Irene!
Taken by those butchers !”

He did not hesitate another moment.
He turned and sped through the
corpse- and debris-ridden streets to-
ward his own apartment house. He
found it had escaped the bombardment
but was empty of people.

With pounding feet he went up the
staircase to his room, and entered. A
decisive plan was in his mind. He
would bathe his woimd, dress in fresh
clothes, then head for Micropolis in one
of the fast emergency machines, grant-
ing they hadn’t already been discovered
in their private hangar adjoining the
terminal building

Hastily he began to bathe his wound
in cold water, wincing at the pain.
Then as he wrung out the rag into the
bowl he stared in astonishment. The
rising sun played directly upon it and
revealed, amidst the water and crimson
blood streaks, an inconceivably tiny ob-
ject making desperate efforts to gain
the bowl side. For a moment he mis-
took it for an insect, then as he looked
closer the rag dropped from his hand
in utter amazement. It was not an in-
sect but an incredibly small four-armed
being, obviously washed from the
wound on his head.

Immediately the scientist in him
came uppermost. He jumped across
to a case of instruments and brought
out a microscope. With infinite care
he scooped the object up and laid it on
a slide, then peered at it amazedly. Un-
der the power of the lenses it was now
clearly visible — it was a still living
creature, not unlike the Krajian race,
and obviously on the verge of death.
It was manifestly severely wounded,
evidently had been hurt by the vibra-
tion of the blow that fiad cleaved

Price’s own skull. At that instant it
had been in his blood stream almost
upon the spot where the wound had
been inflicted. Then, washed into the
bowl, the shock of the water had
brought it back to momentary life
again.

“Not a Krajian, but an Ukian!”
Price muttered, his eyes narrowing.
“I’d know one anywhere.”

Viciously he squeezed the luckless
creature into extinction beneath finger
and thumb, then gave himself up to
brief thought. Slowly, gradually, the
immense purpose behind this strange
invasion began to filter into his mind.
Piece by piece, as the moments slid by,
it all became clear to him.

Every person that had been afflicted
by the strange disease must, then, have
had one of these devilish Ukians inside
him! That explained the mysterious
cuts just before the disease started —
obviously they^ had been caused by the
Ukians themselves, no doubt with tiny
instruments. It also explained the nau-
seating body-burstings.

“Am I lucky !” Price breathed at last,
straightening up. “I’d never have
found it but for that blow last night.
Obviously when the little devil was
half killed his influence over my brain
failed, otherwise heaven knows fiow far
I might have gone. Of all the dam-
nable ways to win a war ! But what’s
it all for?”

He couldn’t fathom that point. His
mind swung back to Irene. Grimly he
resumed his interrupted bathing, then
changed and made for the emergency
hangars.

As he had hoped the emergency
hangars were untouched. The massive
doors were closed as securely as they
had always been. Rapidly fie swung
the dials to the required combination
numbers, then flung the doors wide.
Without a pause he headed for the fore-
most machine, entered, and closed the
air-locks.

^I'^HE engines started up reassur-
Ja. ingly enough under his touch at
the controls. Quickly he drove the
machine forward on its land wheels
and soon covered the brief distance in-
to the main terminal building. An in-
tense fear was in his heart that perhaps

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

the priceless potassium unit would
have been destroyed in the air raid of
the night before, but to his infinite re-
lief he found it still there, sunken deep
into the pit. Evidently the guiding
minds behind the onslaught had taken
care to prevent anything happening to
the one spot wherein lay their universe.

Price paused only long enough to
make the necessary calculations on
how far away he would be from Kraj
when he had descended into the infini-
tesimal — for he was starting this time
from a point some ten yards away from
the potassium unit, which in the aggre-
gate would total up to millions of spa-
tial miles. He debated too, whether he
ought to visit Kraj or Uk, then remem-
bering Irene’s words about Micropolis
he decided on the former, though he
had a distinct feeling that the Ukians
alone were to blame.

Satisfied at last he threw in the main
switches and watched the mighty
building grow incredibly vast about
him.

He was seething with impatience as
he drove steadily downward. Every
second of the trip, which usually occu-
pied eight hours, seemed to him an in-
finity. The only relief he obtained was
when the unconsciousness of transit to
the ultra-small claimed him for a brief
period. Then he was alert again, ex-
pecting danger, expecting every mo-
ment to be wiped out of being as had
those of the Atomic Patrol. But grad-
ually, as the time for the journey’s end
drew near and nothing unexpected
happened he began to realize why it
was so. He was not taking the normal
route to Micropolis !

He was pursuing a track some eighty
thousand miles away from it, which
was due entirely to his different start-
ing point. Whatever it had been that
had presumably destroyed the Atomic
Patrol fleet had evidently been set di-
rectly in the normal route, and he, by
means of his deviation, was missing it.
Convinced this was the case he made
an even wider detour to gain Kraj,
reaching it finally from the north cos-
mic point instead of the south. And at
last he dropped gently on the main
landing ground of Micropolis itself.

To Ids astonishment, upon alighting

from the machine, he beheld a veritable
sea of atomic fliers waiting as though
for a given signal. Silvery, snub-nosed
vessels gleaming under the blue-white
effulgence of the sun, actually the nu-
cleus of the potassium. For a while he
stood looking at them in puzzlement,
noting the busy figures of Krajians
teeming about them, then, after a
glance upward at the cloudy yellow
world of Uk, some 200,000 miles dis-
tant, he made his way rapidly to the
main administrative building.

Yuk, ruler of Kraj and master of Mi-
cropolis, was just descending the broad
steps of the building in company with
his immediate advisers as Price pre-
pared to mount them. They met half-
way up.

W ITHOUT hesitation Yuk made
a quick signal to his men and
Price was' firmly seized.

“So, ihy friend, whoever you may be,
you Earthmen have turned traitors?”
Yuk inquired bitterly, his single eye
glowing malevolently. “You send us
cargoes of Earthmen who try to learn
our innermost secrets and attempt to
destroy us! We thought better of
Earthmen than that! You see those
machines assembled there? We are
ready to launch our attack to. exter-
minate every living being on Earth.
Normally we are not a warlike race,
but this time it is different. It is
clearly them— or us!”

“But — but you don’t understand!”
Price gasped hoarsely. “Listen — I beg
of you! We on Earth have nearly all
been slain by warfare! Only a few
hours ago I discovered that it was
caused by a microscopic being — an
Ukian, controlling our minds by living
in our blood streams. Thousands up-
on thousands of them have reached
Earth recently. The whole thing
started with Kerry Justin and his part-
ner Albridge. You remember them?
The pilots of Freighter LV-z.”

Y UK’S immense eye revealed that
he was thinking. He made a mo-
tion and Price was released.

“Tell me more !” he ordered.

Quickly and concisely Price went
through the whole story, and when he

MENACE FROM THE MICROCOSM

had finished Yuk’s eye was filled with
a devouring hate.

“I see it all now,” he muttered.
“This is clearly the work of those ac-
cursed Ukians — a clever attempt to de-
stroy not only us but Earthmen as well
— to gain control over both worlds. On
your world they set Earthmen at each
other's throats. Others they send os-
tensibly to here, but waylay them on
the journey. During the waylaying
process they place one of their damned
spies in human bodiesi then the
humans continue their journey here,
finding out all they can by the dictates,
of the miniature beings inside them.
By this they accomplish the dual move
of learning our secrets, for naturally
the Ukians waylay them on the return
journey — and also they have excited
our hatred against Earthmen for we,
finding out, have believed Earthmen to
be at fault.”

“That’s exactly it,” Price nodded in
relief. “There’s one other thing,
though. Earthmen don’t return to
Earth once they’ve left it, or if they do
it is only to burst and release more of
these microscopic spies. It can only
mean that those who don’t return are
incarcerated on Uk, or else something
decidedly worse. I’m seeking Irene,
my betrothed. I understood she’d been
brought here. Evidently she was un-
der a misapprehension, or else had been
deliberately led to believe the wrong

“Goodbye, Sir” . . . “Thank you, Sir,”
says the head waiter fervently, as the
little party of four leaves the club. And
why shouldn’t he — ^for a $10.00 tip ?.

Think that’s unusual ? Not a bit of it.
Young men are making lots of money
— and spending plenty — these daya
Young men full of health, full of snap
and power. And you can bet your bot-
tom dollar that these men watch their
health like a hawk — that they see to it
that their bowels move regularly. For
no man can feel right and do his best
if be is held back by the curse of
constipation.

So if you want to step up your energy,
if you want a quick mind and a vlgor-

thing. She must be on Uk, and if I
tear the whole infernal planet in pieces
I mean to find herl Granting, that is,
that I’m not too late. If I am — ”
Yuk’s immense head slowly nodded.
“I understand. Your coming here
has cleared up many things we did not
fathom; why we could not get any
news from Earth, for one^ thing. We
shall now change our attack from
Earth to Uk. We leave immediately!”
Price nodded eagerly.

“I’m with you, Yuk. I’ll use my own
machine. You lead and I’ll follow.”

CHAPTER IV
Avengers of Kraj

W ITHIN ten minutes Price was
back again in his machine, wait-
ing tensely at the controls, watching
as the immense Krajian fleet rose in
orderly formation into the air and
streaked rapidly toward the sparse
clouds. When at last they had all gone,
a vast and avenging armada, he shot
upward in their wake, hung closely to
the tail ^f Ine rearmost machir'

Uk, yellow world of peril, was clear-
ly visible the instant the atmosphere
of Kraj had' been left behind. Already
the trifling 200,000 miles distance was
decreasing. The Krajian fleet broke up

[Turn Page]

ous body, remember this one thing and
never forget it — see that your bowels
move regularly it

But the way you move yoiur bowels
is important. Instead of taking a laxa-
tive that disturbs your S 3 ^tem and up-
sets your stomach, take gentle Ex-Lax.

Ex-Lax limits its action entirely to
the intestines, where the actual consti-
pation exists. It gives the intestines a
gentle nudge, emptying the bowels thor-
oughly — ^but easily and comfortably.
Ex-Lax works in such a simple, com-
mon-^nse way. And it is such a pleas-
ure to take. Ex-Lax tastes just like de-
licious chocolate. At all dimg stores —
10c and 25c. iln Canada — ^15c and 35c.)J

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

into sectors, linked together by spatial
radio. Only one machine remained in
the forefront — an empty machine, con-
trolled remotely by Yuk himself-^the
point ship of the armada. It was as
well the ruler’s foresight had led him
to adopt this method, for suddenly and
mysteriously, when the halfway line
between Uk and Kraj had been gained,
the machine jolted violently and re-
bounded back into space, gradually dis-
solving into molten metal.

“To the left!” thundered Yuk’s
voice, clearly , audible in Price’s own
loudspeaker. “Electric barrier! Bear
left and bring on neutralizer rays — fre-
quency nineteen. Only way to get
through. Prepare for recoil.”

Price smiled grimly to himself.

“So that’s where the Atomic Patrol
went to!” he rnuttered. “Electric bar-
rier that shatters the construction of
a ship and changes it into energy. I
guessed at something like that. Only
removed when necessary, I suppose.”

True to orders the fleet turned aside,
but only for a while, then space was
alive with emerald green rays, hurling
their stupendous power — technically
known to the Krajians as frequency 19
— at the invisible barrier. So far as
Price could figure out the rays were
duplicating the same power as the bar-
rier itself, working on the principle of
like repulsing like. Whatever it was,
beams stabbing the infinite, the ma-
chines swept through the invisible wall
and went streaking onward toward the
yellow planet. Price, himself, having no
such rays, slid through under the ray
protection of the last ship.

Evidently, however, the smashing of
the barrier had warned the Ukians what
to expect, or else they had already seen
the invaders through their high-pow-
ered telescope and had rnachines ready
for action. The fact remained that from
Uk’s yellow surface there suddenly be-
gan to spew a fleet of gleaming space
machines, villainous energy-rays faint-
ly visible against the ebon dark of in-
finity.

Price set his lips as he clenched his
controls. He wished he had an assist-
ant to aid him. The machine was
equipped with deadly weapons enough,
all controllable from his main switch-

board, but none the less he realized he
would have all his work cut out to
carve a way through the horde and give
battle at the same time.

Tensely he watched the opening at-
tack, saw Krajian and Ukian ships
swarm into conflict. Infinity blazed
with , light as two machines can-
noned into each other, to sink back into
dripping debris gravitating about the
whole ruptured mass. The combatants
were pretty nearly equal, but the sci-
entific power was on the side of the
merciless Ukians. Time and time again
their disruptive radiations stabbed out
into space, flicking pieces off the Kra-
jian machines and, more rarely, anni-
hilating them altogether.

For quite ten minutes the swirling
chaos continued, then Price found his
attention forced away from the observ-
ation screens as one of the machines
suddenly made a direct dive toward
him. Instantly he dived downward,
held his breath, and shot beneath the
very belly of the hurtling monster. An
energy ray peeled the top plates off his
vessel like skin from an orange. His
eyes narrowed as he clutched the
molecular gun, most deadly weapon in
Earthly science.

He swung around again, circled war-
ily, and dodged another attack of rays.
Then he maneuvered until he had the
invading machine dead across the sight
of the gun. The Ukian vessel, by far
the clumsier, struggled mightily to

MENACE FROM THE MICROCOSM

swing to one side, and indeed had half
succeeded when Price, eyes shining like
steel across the sights, pressed the fir-
ing button.

^"NSTANTLY the terrible weapon
-iia. shot back on its powerful springs
with the recoil. The opposing machine,
being on one side, half vaporized —
belched outward in a tumbling mass of
rendihg, dripping metal, the molecules
of its formation utterly blasted into a
gaseous state. But the remaining sec-
tion, a conical hulk, floated lazily away,
those in its interior only saved from
instant death in space by the automatic
compartment doors.

Price swung his gun again to finish
his task, then paused. Within that hulk
there would undoubtedly be some men
left. They might know where Irene
was! Hardly had the thought passed
through his mind than he switched on
the twin space anchors, hooked the
derelict to his own ship, and set oil for
Uk at top speed.

His journey took him around the
edge of the battle, the most desperate
journey he had ever known. Time and
time again pieces of his machine were
torn away; once the vessel was hit so
hard he thought it would crumble in
pieces, then he realized it had only been
a reflected beam and not a direct one.

So, little by little, edging his way
around, only sparing himself time
enough to note that Yuk was slowly
and resolutely gaining the upper hand,
mainly because of the swifter nature of
his machine, he circuited the space
battle and ultimately gained the dense
clouds of the Ukian atmosphere. Then
only did he slow down, switch his grav-
itators to full strength, and draw the
hulk into contact with his own ma-
chine.

Grimly he flicked on the radio trans-
mitting equipment.

“Ukians!” he snapped into the mic-
rophone, using the Krajian language.
“Do you hear me?”

A pause followed, then an Ukian’s
halting voice answered.

“We hear!”

“Good! Now listen to me! You will
answer a question. If you do that I
will spare the lot of you; if you don’t

I’ll blast you clean to hell. I’m seeking
the Earthmen who were snared to your
planet — one in particular, a woman by
the name of Irene Edwards. Tell me
where she is and you will come to no
harm.” x

There was a long pause, then the
voice resumed.

“We don’t know the particular
Elarthling you name, but we do know
where they all are. It is the plan of
Kanos, our master, to examine their
various organs, to find how best to con-
vert ourselves when we take over
Earth—”

Price became desperate with sudden
fear.

“Where are they? Blast you to hell,
where?” he snarled.

“In the prison adjoining the surgical
laboratories.”

“O.K. We’ll head for the place and
you’ll direct me as I drag you along.
I’ll let you go when I’m sure you’ve
told the truth.

Savagely he turned aside and flung
in his switches once more, dropped
through the clouds at a dizzying rate.
Then the tremendous city of the Uk-
ians burst into view. The voice of the
Ukian within the derelict spoke at in-
tervals, directing the course, until at
last Price beheld the enormous prison
and laboratories stretched in a two
mile enormity below him, apart from
the main city’s curious, straddling
reaches.

“Right!” he snapped. “Now we’ll see
if you’re telling the truth.”

He dropped down within three hun-
dred feet of the crystalline roof. Star-
ing through the floor observation
plates he distinctly beheld below him
the vast hall of science and, more dim-
ly beyond, close banked masses that he
assumed were Earthmen ! Evidently
the Ukian had spoken the truth.

Satisfied, he swung away, swept five
miles southward with devastating
speed, and there dropped the derelict.
With a grim smile he switched on his
molecular gun and cut a two hundred
foot deep chasm all the way around
the wreck, -marooning the Ukians com-
pletely as they suddenly poured from
the hulk in an effort at escape. Then,
cutting the power down, he half melted

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

the derelict and left it there, satisfied
that the beings could not give any
warnings, either by radio or personal
touch.

S HE flew close to the laboratories
again. Price put his pre-devised
plans into action. Quickly he moved
his minimizing switches, waited while
he and the ship contracted to the utter-
most limits, shrank down to the elec-
tron within an electron state. As the .
process proceeded he lowered the ves-
sel slowly, waiting until at last it was
tiny enough to pass through the enor-
mous tunnel which actually comprised
the airlet hole of a roof ventilator.

Gently he eased the machine through,
then stopped the decreasement. He
burst at last into the stupendous im-
mensity of the laboratory, unseen and
silent, no larger than a wasp. Grimly
he looked about him.

On every hand were giants, colossal
Ukians as they appeared, proceeding
with their vivisection operations, so
intent on their tasks they never, even'
glimpsed the tiny cylindrical flyer
zooming swiftly over their heads.

Price shuddered at the things he be-
held. Twenty-four operating tables
were in action, and upon them lay
Earthmen in various stages of vivisec-
tion — some dead, others mere butch-
ered mounds of flesh craving for the ex-
tinction that was mercilessly withheld.

Hopefully Price searched the area
wherein further Earthmen were wait-
ing for experiment— colossal men and
women they seemed, jammed tightly
together within the monstrous cage of
a prison. Price went high above them,
peered down on their enormous, ter-
ror-stricken faces, but he failed to be-
hold the features of Irene. The thought
that she was perhaps already dead or
torn in pieces by these inhuman fiends
sickened and stupefied him for a mo-
ment; then he went on again, cease-
lessly, desperately, following the line
of operating tables.

Abruptly his breath . caught ; he
stared fix^ly into his observation re-
flector, trained on the seventh table.
There was the girl herself, conscious,
utterly overcome with fear, strapped
down by a massive leather harness.

About her, arranging their instruments
for action, were the Ukian surgeons.

“Irene!” he shouted hoarsely, only
to realize she couldn’t possibly hear
him.

Fiercely he swung the miniature ma-
chine down, swept over the hill that
comprised the girl’s supine body,
dropped, then maneuvered around to
face the chief operating surgeon — Ka-
nos himself, had he but known it. With
rapid movements Price focused his
molecular gun and pressed the button.
Being reduced in size its area of effi-
ciency was likewise shortened, but
none the less its power was just as dev-
astating on a small scale. The beam,
no thicker than a lead pencil, stabbed
into the enormous face of the ruler of
Uk, drove clean into his single eye and
through it into the depths of his fien-
dish brain.

He dropped without a sound, stone
dead.

Irene twisted her head about; her
eyes seemed the size of lakes as Price
shot over her face like an angry wasp.
The surgeons turned, astounded, tried
to locate the hovering, darting terror —
but on account of its small size they
were utterly unable to catch it with
their flailing arms. Time and time
again its vicious molecular gun stabbed
out, tore pieces out of the men, blinded
them, killed them.

No larger than an insect, and yet it
wreaked death and havoc everywhere
it touched.

Pandemonium spread over the lab-
oratory. The surgeons raced up and
down desperately, tried everything
they could to wipe the machine out.
They realized now what it really was.
Price went on grimly, waited until he
had at last forced all the Ukians into
a corner of the immense place; then he
gradually enlarged the size of the ves-
sel to normal. It grew steadily, filling
all the space, spreading outward,
smashing down instruments, finally
reaching up to the ceiling.

“Listen, Ukians!” Price thundered,
connecting the external loudspeaker.
“I’ve got the lot of you in a corner and
you can’t get out. One move and I’ll
blast the lot of you.”

MENACE FROM THE MICROCOSM

CHAPTER V
Return to Earth'

T he trapped surgeons said nothing,
could only look futilely at the
enormity of curved, shining wall hem-
ming them in. They realized clearly
that the Earthman would carry out his
threat without hesitation if necessary,
so they waited in sullen silence.

Price exited the machine by the op-
posite door and raced across to the pin-
ioned girl. In an instant he had her
free, gathered her to him tenderly.

“Ray! Oh — Ray — ” Her voice broke
huskily; then from sheer reaction she
fainted dead away. Quick as a flash
Price swept her up in his arms, laid
her carefully on the ship’s wall bunk^
then returned to the cage. In a mo-
ment he had the clamps unfastened and
released the Earthmen in a shouting,
joyous flood.

“Any others?’’ he asked curtly, and
a tall, bald-headed man stopped to an-
swer him.

“Butchered,” he said hoarsely.
“We’re all that’s left. Thank God you
came.”

“Never mind that,” Price inter-
rupted. “I had a personal reason.
We’ll have to release these others and
give those poor butchered devils over
there a quick dose of lethal gas. They’re
beyond hope. We’ll need a fleet of
ships, too, to get all of you back to
Earth.”

He paused grimly and edged back
toward the vessel as the surgery doors
suddenly crashed open. Tensely he
waited, then relaxed. It was Yuk and
his men — a victorious mob. The Kra-
jian- paused at last as he beheld Price.

“So you succeeded too I” he exclaim-
ed in obvious delight. “Splendid,
Elarthman! We finally overcame the
Ukiah space-fliers — their ships were
too clumsy. We have the city guarded
at every point; twenty space machines
are hovering with disintegrator rays
ready for action. I left this building
untouched when I discovered its na-
ture — realized you would rather have

it that way. The victory is ours, my
friend.” He paused and looked about
him. “The surgeons?” he asked in sur-
prise. “What has become of them all?”
Briefly Price told him.

“They are prisoners,” Yuk an-
nounced grimly. “Bring them forward.
We will attend to them.”

“First I want something from
them,” Price answered quietly. “I want
an antidote by which I can kill their
miniature spies within human beings
without harming human beings them-
selves. There must be something.”
With that he turned aside, entered
the ship, and threw open the opposite
air-lock. Covering the surgeons with
his ray-gun he forced them through to
the surgery.

“We heard your request, Earthman,”
one of them remarked. “You want an
antidote. If we provide it will you al-
low us freedom? Freedom to visit
other worlds and leave Uk behind?”

“It is not in my power to give you
that,” Price returned. “I want an anti-
dote and I mean to have it. You are
Yuk’s prisoners, not mine. It’s up to
him.”

“Your request is granted,” the Kra-
jian ruler said calmly. “Give the Earth-
man what he desires.”

The surgeon turned aside and ex-
tracted a metal sheet from a compli-
cated filing cabinet. In silence he
handed it to Price.

“That is a method we invented in
case we had need of it,” he said after
a while. “What we have done we can
also undo. Follow out those instruc-
tions, build the required generators,
and you will be able to disseminate an
electrical field which will apparently
paralyze human beings for a brief pe-
riod. What really happens is that mild
electric currents pass through their
bodies. On account of their size they
can stand it, but to the infinitely small-
er Ukians imprisoned within them it
will be the equivalent of extreme high
tension voltage.”

“Right,” Price said crisply, turned
aside, and put the sheet carefully away.

“That leaves little more here,” Yuk
commented, and tugged out his own
ray-gun. Before the surgeons had the

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

least chance to move away the ray had
swept the length of the line. They fell
like so many ninepins, killed instantly.

Price gazed blankly. “But — but,
Yuk, you promised them — ”

“I made a promise I had no inten-
tion of keeping,” Yuk answered im-
placably. “ITiese Ukians have no hon-
or, no soul. They give a formula that
means the destruction Of their ' fellow
spies on Earth without a qualm, purely
to save their own skins. So — extermi-
nation is the best policy. A Krajian
never makes conditions. All or noth-
ing!”

RICE shrugged.

“The law of Kraj is ruthlessly
efficient, anyhow,” he remarked. “Per-
haps you’ll give me a hand to attend
to these other unfortunate ones?”
“Willingly. You will require ma-
chines to return to Earth. You have
my permission to use my space ships
for the time being; we will be staying
here for a while.”

An hour later Price was heading a
dozen ships back from the infinitely

small to his own beloved Earth. Be-
side him sat Irene. She dwelt but little
on the horrors she had undergone, only
upon the peace and security that lay in
the future.

And peace and security it proved to
be. The electrical system was duly put
into operation at the earliest moment.
For two days paralysis spread over the
still war-mongering hordes of Earth,
but when they awoke those strange and
belligerent urges had gone. They were
normal again, shaken human beings,
but prepared to take up the threads of
their war-shattered lives once more.

So, ultimately, the balance was re-
stored. The wreckage was cleared
away; rebuilding took place; journey-
ings between Micropolis and Uk be-
came even more frequent now that the
beaten planet was annexed by the Kra-
jians. In five years it was- hard to tell
that there had ever been an invasion
from the microcosm ; indeed only a few
seemed to remember it. But Raymond
Price, the new chief of Interatomic
Corporation, and his lovely young wife,
never forgot it.

IN THE NEXT ISSUE

•

A Baffling Alien Form of Life Is Discovered in

THE DOUBLE MINDS

A Novelette of Science Secrets

By JOHN W CAMPBELL. JR.

He Was the World’s Greatest Astronomer — Yet When
He Warned Earth of the Impending Impact of a
Giant Meteor, They Laughed at Him I

Each lime he repealed his observations he obtained the same results^

MOLTEN BULLET

By ANTHONY RUD

Author of "The Cain Brand" “The Griffin" etc.

T his is the last of my long series
of studies of the folk of the Lost
Planet, fellow Ski^geours. Or,
fellow Martians, as we have agreed to
call ourselves, the name being so much
more pleasing to the electric ear.

I feel a warmth and a sympathy for
those Earthmen, so far ahead of us in
many ways, yet totally unable to help
themselves in that last dreadful calam-
ity.

Since we have adopted their spoken
and written word, in place of our thou-
sands of clashing dialects different
along each two canals, and so many of
their incredible mechanisms, it is only
natural that we should have devoted
time to their individuals.

In passing let me say that my deep-
est regret has been the inability of my-
self and other Martian scientists, in
spite of our monster selectoscope which

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

allowed me to pick up their ether
waves, their speech, and even to follow
the movements of any single Earthian
with understanding, to get together
with their great scientific men in any
sort of talk.

We could hear and see and under-
stand almost everything; but we could
not fathom the manner in which those
ether waves they called radio, were
flung from place to place, and even out
to us here in the center of the Universe.

They, on the other hand, were ap-
parently several time cycles behind dis-
covering anything similar to the Lo-
amm selectoscope, which would have
enabled them really to study us!

As I have reiterated, both physically
and mentally they resembled us so
closely — allowing for the differences in
climate and our other natural advan-
tages, of course — that it is almost cer-
tain we sprang from the same stock..

Either the Creator developed life on
both planets in almost identical fash-
ion, or at some past time and greater
epoch of civilization we must have con-
quered the difficulties of interplanetary
travel, and sent a space ship to colonize
Earth.

I favor that theory. Though of course
it might have been a landing party
from Earth which started us!

HAD great hopes for Albert Ein-
stein Ammerton. He was more
like a Martian than any of the other
scores of Earthmen I had studied. If
any man on Earth ever could have in-
vented our selectoscope, or its equiva-
lent, Ammerton would have been the
maitj

According to their time reckoning,
which I have explained earlier, Am-
merton was born in their year 1937,
A.D. Though we might have regarded
him notably backward, arid odd in some
respects, from his very ,earliest years
he was far ahead of his fellow Earth-
ians. He was a mathematical genius.

At the age of eleven he had grad-
uated from Massachusetts Institute of
Technology and already was in a fair
way to becoming recognized as the
greatest Earthian authority on math-
ematical variants. When he was fif-
teen, and acting as third assistant at

the great Sandraes Observatory, he
worked out a correction to the parallax
of Neptune — an error which had gone
undiscovered for more than a century.

Development of this kind, usual with
us on Mars, was something more than
phenomenal on Earth. Ammerton was
called a prodigy. Like our great as-
tronomer and calculator, Ebii Loamm,
who had conquered the binomial the-
orem at the age of forty months, Am-
merton was a trifle narrow in after life.
He did not become insane, however,
(You will recall that Loamm, after in-
ventirig the selectoscope, went vio-
lently mad at the age of two hundred,
in the very prime of his young Mar-
tian manhood.)

Ammerton’s greatest interest lay in
the far stretches of the Universe. He
was human enough, in' his odd rno-
ments though, to court and marry a
beautiful young woman, one Elspeth
Sandraes, daughter of the multi-mil-
lionaire Earthman who had given this
observatory its great 300-inch mirror
telescope.

So no one was greatly surprised
when in 1963, at the death of the, ob-
servatory chief, Albert E. Ammerton
was promoted over the head of the then
assistant chief, one Hans Becker, zmd
given supreme authority in the San-
draes Observatory.

Note that name, Hans Becker. He
was much like many Martians you and
I know — iselfish devils, consumed by
inner furies, men who believe that all
that they desire should be handed to
them, irrespective of their real desserts.

With the selectoscope I followed
Becker and Ammerton, and flatter my-
self I understood them from bones to
brains. It is too bad they were not
radio engineers, for if so it is certain
we would know now the one great
Earthian secret which escaped us.,

(Even now, after one of our Martian
centuries' — equal to 178 Earth years —
I often puzzle over what those early
radio broadcasters were trying to tell
us, when they kept repeating over and
over again that statement about the
music going round and around. It did,
and so did their words, of course, but
as far as giving us the hint we sought,
it seemed irrelevant!)

THE MOLTEN BULLET

Hans Becker was about forty years
of age, haughty and arrogant of man-
ner. He was a competent astronomer,
of course, painstaking and methodical,
until a pair of things happened to up-
set him greatly.

IRST, the beautiful heiress, El-
speth Sandraes, married Becker’s
young rival, Ammerton. Second, Am-
merton received the coveted - post as
head of the observatory. As the chief
assistant, Becker believed that he
should have received the appointment.
And it is probable that he did love the
girl. A good many men of assorted
ages did.

How Becker did rage! I was fas-
cinated by him, and followed him on
the long walks he took over the coun-
tryside. He walked fast in spurts,
sometimes raising his right leg stiffly
in a sort of wooden-soldier march,
sometimes stopping short to lift his
fists to the uncompromising stars, and
shout curses which ought to have
turned green the face of the moon. ,

Becker’s own white face would grow
red, then purple, while his thinning
thatch of yellow hair bristled with the
electricity generated by his venom.

All that first year Ammerton, happy
with his new wife and the great cam-
era-telescope, was unaware of the ha-
tred and jealousy seething in Becker’s
heart. In fact Ammerton was ex-
tremely blind, never finding out about
this personal grudge until at last it was
almost too late to do anything about it.

In all their relations at the observ-
atory, Becker was courteous, suave and
obedient to his new chief, bending often
from the waist in that stiff, rather jerky
bow which was characteristic of him.
But his inner thoughts must have been
black and slimy enough. He vowed
aloud in a shout to the distant stars —
and to my selectoscope — that he would
devote the remainder of his life to ven-
geance.

It was Ammerton’s career as Earth’s
foremost astronomer, which Hans
Becker ruined — and ruined so insid-
iously, after a long period of seeming
harmony with his chief, that the plot-
ter achieved his object in full before
Ammerton as much as suspected that

he was the victim of a conspiracy.

Becker came of a German family of
clockmakers, and himself had served an
early apprenticeship in that trade. So
he was deft with delicate machinery,
intricate little affairs of springs, pawls
and ratchets. He studied the finer ad-
justment mechanisms of the awesome
camera-telescope, and then busied him-
self for weeks in a secret workshop in
the cellar of his home.

Then during one afternoon, when
honest astronomers sleep, Becker
brought his devilish little gadget to the
observatory and fitted it to the great
telescope. It concerned tiny fractions
of a degree in setting, and was so small
itself and placed so well out of the way
that no one could suspect its presence,
save possibly the subordinate in charge
of cleaning, oiling and care of the ex-
pensive instrument. And that subordi-
nate was Hans Becker himself!

A tiny electric switch in the adjoin-
ing office had to be thrown, in order to
affect the telescope. When the switch
was not in contact, the instrument was
perfect as usual. But Becker, by merely
moving that switch arm back and forth,
could make one observation faulty,
while another taken the next minute,
would be accurate!

The error there on Earth was per-
haps three one-hundred-thousandths of
an inch. Two and one-half billion miles
away on Neptune, for instance — a
planet much nearer than any star — that
tiny discrepancy had magnified itself so
greatly that an astronomer could break
his heart endeavoring to understand it.

R, he could believe that stars and
planets suddenly and irresponsi-
bly had left their prescribed orbits, like
so many off -center- weighted golf balls
in flight, and were slicing and hooking
themselves into the heavenly rough.

Becker was far too wise in his plot-
ting to allow anything like this, un-
controlled tmd incredible, to happen.
What did seem to occur was calmly
regulated and consistent, even though
startling. You see, astronomy was so
exact a science that when even a tiny
error showed its head, it created a sen-
sation throughout the world. It is
quite as if in a high school geometry

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

class a young sophomore went to the
blackboard and demonstrated to the
astounded teacher that in a certain
right-angle triangle he had discovered,
,the sum of the squares of the two other
sides did not equal the square of the hy-
pothenuse !

Becker waited until his chief launched
-a series of observations. These had to
do with the earth’s present orbit, and
inferentially with the eccentricity of
that orbit from one million years B.C.
until the present day. Ammerton lit-
tle realized that he was going to find
anything more wrong than might be
accounted for by the difference in mod-
ern and old-time instruments. Croll,
Leverrier and Stone, working out these
calculations first, had been handicapped
by telescopes outdated by more than a
century.

But Ammerton’s results certainly did
begin to come out differently ! At first
he was inclined to doubt, to think that
possibly the great instrument itself
must be in error. But tireless checks
over all the great coordinates of the
heavens, finally convinced him that he
was on the right track, and that those
old figures, believed in the way lamas
believe in Buddha, were in gross error !

Becker stayed right with his chief all
night long every night for months,
helping take the photos, tabulating re-
sults, and making intricate calcula-
tions.

When not in the observatory, Am-
merton was walking around wide-eyed
and preoccupied. His wife scarcely
knew him. He muttered long strings
of figures to himself. The thing he had
come upon was stupendous, unbeliev-
able!

Yet everything checked. Each time
he repeated his observations he ob-
tained the same amazing results. Of
course it had been difficult indeed for
those poor fellows with their primitive
apparatus, back in the nineteenth cen-
tury. But even so, it was hard to con-
ceive that they had been this far wrong.

At last Ammerton’s final doubts were
satisfied, though. He sat down to write
the epoch-making article for the Jour-
nal of Astronomy, which would give
these new results to a wondering world.

Heretical statements such as this

were the meat of the new exposition,
which would make savants gasp;

It must not be supposed that the eccen-
tricity, in obedience to the laws, relating to
planetary eccentricities, oscillates between
the absolute maximum and the absolute
minimum, the perihelion shifting continu-
ously forward. On the contrary, the suc-
cessive maxima and minima are very unr
equal, and are attained after very unequal
intervals.

Becker looked startled and shocked
when he read. He stammered around,
and then suggested fearfully that it
might be wiser to break the news
somewhat more gently. Would not
Herr Ammerton consider sending out
a few hints first, and postpone the
actual publication of his revolution-
ary article until sorhe future time?

HIS got the scientist’s back up —
as it was intended to do.

“By the cosine of Caraneus, no!”
cried Ammerton, banging his clenched
fist on the table in passionate empha-
sis. “I’ll never quibble or qualify!
When I’m right, I’m right — and every-
one must know and understand !’’

“Of course you know best, chief,’’
murmured the hypocritical Becker,
bowing stiffly from the hips. “And
what a poke in the eye is coming to
you, you handsome sap !’’ he gritted un-
der his breath, concealing jubilance un-
der the usual mask of grave suavity.

It was during those days, following
the mailing of his treacherously de-
luded article, that my fullest Martian
sympathy went out to poor Ammerton.
Not only had he been betrayed in his
lifework, but all the natural and unna-
tural misfortunes men are heir to,
started ganging up on him. He fell ill
with influenza. His wife died in child-
birth, and the baby with her. And then
vvhen at long last Ammerton managed
to stagger to his feet, facing every dis-
aster like a strong man should, resolved
to bury his sorrows in work, he found
even that chance for forgetfulness slip-
ping away from him!

The friendly editor of the Journal of
Astronomy had sent him a message,
hinting that after having read the cos-
mic surprise in the long article, he won-
dered if Ammerton were not poking out
his neck a bit too rashly. He suggested

THE MOLTEN BULLET

a careful recheck of results.

Anamerton, out of himself with grief
and physical illness at the time, an-
swered this with curt savagery, quite
unlike his usual manner. So in due
course the article appeared. The mag-
azine editor realized it would boom cir-
culation, even though it did ruin Am-
merton. And then, of course, there was
the slight possibility that the man was
right. He had a worldwide reputation
for care and thoroughness in his work.

The sensation was all that anyone
expected. Then for a few weeks — si-
lence. Finally, when other observers
had gone over the ground, there came
the frigid, stern word that Ammerton
must be (Juite mad. This came from
Professor Emmanuel Liebling, of
Prague.

An Associated Press interview with
another noted astronomer. Dr. Wilfred
Graham of Lick Observatory, appeared
in many of the chief newspapers. Dr.
Graham said flatly that his learned con-
temporary was mistaken.

Less dignified savants all over the
earth jeered loudly. Why, any eighteen-
year-old freshman in college astron-
omy could take a twenty-foot ’scope
and show how ridiculous these findings
were!

The Judas plot of Hans Becker had
worked to perfection.

Now he added the master touch.
Spurred out of his grief, indignant
beyond wc^ Js, Ammerton plunged into
a complete recheck of his work. And
his second batch of results was identical
with the first, to a dozen decimal
places I

He called in Becker to see. But now,
appalling though it was, results were
totally different! (Becker, of course,
had thrown off the switch.)

Sweating even in that chill mountain
observatory, shaking with a palsy of
sudden horror, Ammerton suddenly
broke. He yelled insanely, flung his
fists aloft, and ran from the observa-
tory gibbering in morhentary madness.

If Hans Becker right then and there
had dismantled his secret apparatus-
Of-error, he would never have been dis-
covered. Like many another criminal,
however, he could not keep from over-
doing it. He saw that his chief’s great

brain was practically unhinged now.
One more shock, one more senseless
happening which reason could not ex-
plain, and the mental ruin of the young
scientist would be complete. That,
and nothing less, was Becker’s goal.

ACK now into the observatory
rushed the wild-appearing Am-
merton. One can realize just how far
from his usual mental moorings he had
drifted, by what he did then. He ac-
tually cleaned the lenses of a ponderous
eyepiece, unused since the first days of
testing the giant camera-telescope,
and looked through this eyepiece into
the heavens!

Becker waited. Thi' opportunity for
his final coup would a . rive, he thought,
but this was not it.

Ammerton was sweeping the night
sky, his own mind chaotic. He chanced
to cross the orbit of Polyphemus. This
gigantic asteroid-comet, which for
many centuries had come near — dan-
gerously near — the Solar System, once
each eighty-three years, now was out
of sight from any save the very largest
modern telescopes on Earl!-, ^t may
have been causing the jitters just then,
to the ice-blooded inhabitarn-c far-
away Uranus, if any.

Ammerton’s keen observer’s brain,
still not addled as were his emotions,
caught and fastened to a strange thing.
There was something peculiar and dis-
turbing about the asteroid-comet,
showing out there against the blue-
black of interstellar space as a faint
streak of orange fire.

Polyphemus had a kink in his tail!

In plain words, his tail should have
been slightly curved, if he were pur-
suing his ordinary course. Instead,
there wras a wide bend in it! That
meant trouble.

.Ammerton instantly realized the pos-
sibilities. They were so monstrous
that the thought acted like an ice-pack
on his fevered head. The distortion of
the tail meant that somehow and some-
time the asteroid-comet had abruptly
changed course !

As a possible result, he might hit and
explode one of the planet members.
Or another catastrophe, thought Am-
merton with horror, might lose Earth

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

its sun — ^letting all inhabitants of that
planet freeze to death in a few hours.
Or it might even head Earth straight
into the sun, to be swallowed up in
boiling, molten oblivion !

There were other terrible possibili-
ties as we on Mars know; but those
were enough for Ammerton at that
time. He started new observations,
making photos of Polyphemus every
half hour, and calculations from them.

During the following day, unable to
sleep, the scientist studied all avail-
able data on Polyphemus. He made
painstaking calculations, and at ten
that evening carefully swung the giant
telescope to a certain position of right
ascension. Careening along through
space at its terrific pace, the comet-
asteroid should have reached this ex-
act point at 10 P. M. sharp, Greenwich
Observatory time. Again Anjnierton
looked through the eyepiece of the tel;
escope before getting ready to take the
photograph.

An awed exclamation burst from his
throat. Polyphemus was not there!

(I hasten to make plain that this was
not Becker’s fault. That scoundrel
was lying low and waiting for a good
opportunity, which he did not suspect
had arrived. Ammerton had told him
nothing of -the blood-chilling discov-
ery.)

With the big telescope sweeping
back to the comet-asteroid’s, position of
the previous night preliminary to
some sleuthing of the star spaces, Am-
merton was shocked to discover Poly-
phemus almost exactly where it had
been the night before !

Realize what that meant! The tail
had grown appreciably shorter. Poly-
phemus had changed direction sharply,
and now was headed directly toward
Earth, at an approximate speed of 3300
miles a minute !

O F course, whatever it was that had
shooed it from its normal orbit,
might have slowed it somewhat, or
vastly increased this usual speed. Time
alone could tell. But Ammerton was
never to know, nor anyone else on
Earth, why Polyphemus had changed
its course so amazingly. No one could
suspect that it was because the aster-

oid-comet was a mass of highly mag-
netic iron, attracted to Earth’s > iron
core !

However, unless something inter-
vened, or the speed of Earth was suffi-
cient to outstrip Polyphemus, this un-
holy game of celestial tag was bound
to end in blazing catastrophe !

The mass of Polyphemus, which was
indeed a super-comet, was approxi-
mately seven times greater than that
of Earth’s moon — or about one-twelfth
the mass of Earth itself! When and if
these two bodies collided, it would
create such intense heat that both
would be utterly consumed, and the re-
sultant gases blown away into furthest
space !

Naturally there could be no surviv-
ors on Earth, unless some of them came
forward with a space ship at the last
minute, and succeeded in navigating
away to some other planet. If that
happened, of course, the refugees
would have been most welcome among
us on Mars.

Chances, however, of any group
of Earthmen inventing and actually
building such a ship in the short space
of a few weeks— the time which would
intervene before a collision — were na-
turally very small.

However, on the fourth rnorning,
after three nights of intensive study,
Albert Einstein Ammerton announced
to the reporters of a large daily news-
paper that Polyphemus had gone wild,
left its recognized orbit, and now was
running amok to collide with Earth!

The scientist, though knowing now
well enough what would be said of him
in astronomical circles, thought it his
sacred duty to warn the world. He
himself had ceased to matter.

The reporters spread themselves,
and their city editor cooperated. Am-
merton’s story was rendered with all
due solemnity — if you were not capa-
ble of reading between the lines. It
was a derisive masterpiece. While
seeming to kowtow as usual to the sage
of Sandraes, it really said in substance.
This Guy Is A Nut, And Here Is
Proof !

Other astronomers, boiling over with
indignation at Ammerton’s previous
mistake, did not even wait until their

THE MOLTEN BULLET

smaller telescopes could pick up Poly-
phemus. They howled. They jeered.
They demanded that alienists be called
to consider Ammerton’s case, and that
immediately Sandraes himself and the
trustees of the observatory, get togeth-
er and discharge the crazy man.

Through it all for nearly a week, a
pale-faced man with set jaw, glued his
eye to the telescope and watched the
onrushing doom. He had every calcu-
lation made. He knew the day, hour
and second when Polyphemus would
reach the outer limits of Earth’s at-
mosphere — and then the fractional sec-
ond later which would be the time of
actual impact. Gripped by gravity, the
speed of Polyphemus would increase
terrifically, along at the last. It would
probably reach the awesome velocity
of 5000 miles a second!

Earth had twenty-nine more days to
live, according to Ammerton.

All of a sudden the derisive clacking
of onyx upon porphyry, the braying of
human asses, and the skirl of jeering
bagpipes come to an end. A few of the
learned doctors tired of their fun, and
turned to peer through their own little
lensed barrels. Might just as well see
what might have caused poor Ammer-
ton’s delusion.

Then came a brief, appalling mes-
sage out of Europe :

Dr. Luigi Genetti of the Cisalpine Ob-
servatory says Ammerton may be right I
Polyphemus headed straight for Earth!

In Sydney they saw it. In Moscow.
At Cape Town. At Buenos Aires. At
Edmonton. In the course of five or six
more days they all could make out
Polyphemus. Give them another week,
and they would be able to discern a
small, glowing sun all by itself in a
blank portion of the heavens, using only
their naked eyes !

Y the time that week was out in-
creasing crowds were gathering
to stay up all night and stare at Po-
lyphemus. There was an undercur-
rent of mild excitement. Fear? Not
a bit! Too many bearded wiseacres
clad in nightgowns had climbed to the
tops of neighboring hills, and there
waited for the end of the world. The
great Earth public was enjoying a new

kind of show, but it was not in the least
disturbed. Not yet, that is —

The days and, nights passed. Of
course long ago the comet-asteroid had
completely tucked in his fiery shirt-
tail; or rather, because of the sun’s
position directly beyond Earth, it was
streaming directly behind him, and
therefore could not be seen from Earth.
Dr. Graham of Lick Observatory now
calculated that his speed had increased
to 13,700 miles a minute!

It was when he read this frightened
report that Hans Becker realized the
truth, A few hasty observations of^his
own convinced him that destruction of
the earth, with everything upon it,
loomed. And Becker, like many
another treacherous scoundrel and
egomaniac, feared hurt and death to
himself with an intensity of wild, shud-
dering horror. It could not be! It
could not! It —

He had to catch a grip on himself, for
just then a surging horde of reporters
came rushing to him, demanding his
views on the all-important thing. Did
Earth have any chance to escape?

Controlling his shivering, Becker
pooh-poohed the idea of world destruc-
tion. Certainly Polyphemus was com-
ing. But after all, what was the usual
fate of a meteor (he knew, of course,
this was no meteor !) which rushed into
the rim of Earth’s atmosphere?

In practically all cases, the friction
set up caused it to be consumed utterly !
In this case it just might be that a frag-
ment would succeed in reaching Earth’s
surface; enough, let us say, to cause a
perceptible jar. Or perhaps it would
go unnoted, like that big meteor which
fell in Arizona a few thousand years
ago.

But Hans Becker, try as he did,
could not believe his own words of as-
surance. For untold centuries the
comet-asteroid Polyphemus had been
a flaming bulk of molten metal and
gases, careening through space. Why
should it be consumed in the few sec-
onds — or split part of a second — it
would take to traverse the atmosphere
of the earth?

Answer: it wouldn’tl

In his palsied fright, Becker forgot
all about the throw-switch on his desk,

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

and its effect upon the big telescope.
What a little matter this thing, and
Ammerton’s disgrace, seemed now!
Ransacking his desk, gathering items
he meant to take with him to a deep
cellar or vault somewhere, Becker ac-
cidentally upset one of his desk tele-
phones, and did not bother to put it
back on its cradle.

The speaker-transmitter bumped
against the throw-switch, and closed
the circuit. Becker went in haste, not
knowing and not caring.

Ammerton came into the observatory
a half hour later, and went to the tele-
scope. No longer was it possible to get
anything save boiling, seething chaos
by training the big instrument upon
Polyphemus; but the astronomer had
some by-product observations and cal-
culations he wished to make. When,
however, he attempted to train the
telescope, he found it cock-eyed !

From that to a discovery of Becker’s
apparatus and the subordinate’s treach-
ery, was a short matter. Ammerton
traced the wires to the switch on the
desk, and found out exactly how the
thing had been worked to make him
go haywire on those first calculations
published before the scorn and de-
rision of the entire scientific world.

O — he had been wrong after all —
and it had been his trusted helper
who had betrayed him! From that mo-
ment Ammerton, deprived of every-
thing, he had loved and valued in the
world of men and women, forgot the
impending cataclysm, except insofar as
it limited his time now to a few days;
Before, that space of life was ended, he
meant to find Becker, who had gone
from the observatory, and even from
the secluded hamlet at the foot of the
mountain. Becker had taken the train
for New York City. Ammerton did
the same. He was out to wreak venge-
ance upon the scheming rat.

Then those last four days of fiery
terror. That is, from dawn to dusk
the sky was practically as usual, save
for a gathering heat haze. Polyphemus
came always in the direction of the
night side of the earth, as far as North
Americ^L was concerned.

At night, however — if you could call

it night — a full third of the sky was
filled by the glowing, rushing monster !
It gave far more light than ten suns.
And perhaps' the most horrible part of
it all was that, employing plain smoked
glasses, any inhabitant of the world
could watch Polyphemus actually roil-
ing and boiling and growing in size!

With a loaded pistol in his pocket,
Ammerton was on the trail of his
quarry. Haste was important' now;
and in these days of mounting horror,
few people paid attention to others.
Each man was searching his own soul
for hope, and most were finding only
the rusted tin cans, worn-out auto
tires, and empty bottles of past ex-
cesses. Ammerton managed, as time
grew terribly short, to learn that
Becker for some reason had left New
York City, (it was his fear of the fall-
ing skyscrapers) and had gone out to
a place called Port Washington on the
shore of Long Island.

But even finding one man in that
large a place, was a hard task. Am-
merton started a systematic search,
since it appeared that Becker was un-
known to the crowds running panic-
stricken about the streets. No one
could give any information, or cared to
try. Most thinking men had pro-
visioned deep cellars, hoping against
hope that disintegration of the comet-
asteroid would occur, and that some-
how Earth would survive — with per-
haps only a few days of excessive heat.

Beclfer certainly had sought one of
these holes. Ammerton grimly made
the rounds, hoping he could be in time.

Mounting terror reached its icy, con-
stricting fingers to clutch the hearts
and brains of all careless mankind.
Business stopped. Ships put into port
and were immediately deserted. Trains,
city subways, airplanes — everything
quit. 'Power was turned off. Gas
plants ceased operations, and storage
tanks of gasoline, oil and other inflam-
mables, were emptied.

Frenzied throngs rushed about the
streets of cities, like ants caught upon
a hot plate. The arrogant New York
multi-millionaire, Augustus Blick, who
manufactured motor cars, was caught,
crushed bnd trampled to death by the
maddened mob besieging the largest

THE MOLTEN BULLET

cathedral in New York, attempting to
get inside and repent their sins.

In all the world only a few real saints
and Ammerton went about uncaring.
And Ammerton really did care, not for
catastrophe, but for completing one
private affair before it came. Even
Polyphemus paled before the -star of
his destiny. If he found Becker now,
what did it matter that the end of the
world arrived ten minutes later?

T hat final night the entire heaven
was sealed from horizon to horizon
by the glaring, molten bulk of the mon-
ster of doom. Heat outdoors became
too intense for humans. The ground
began to smoke. Pitchy trees in the
forests suddenly burst into flames.
Buildings of^frame construction began
to scorch and blister. Everywhere men
took their families into cellars and
holes in the ground, into mines.

Then by word of mouth the dreadful
last-minute news was passed: Two
more hours, and Polyphemus hits the
outer rim of the Earth’s atmosphere!
Then we will know!

Ammerton, making a final dash
across the street of liquefied asphalt
paving, realized that when he had
searched this block of buildings, in
which a bank was situated, he was
through. Even with every protection,
he could not venture outdoors in the
remaining moments — if any did remain
— without shriveling up and burning to
a cinder.

“Just let me see him! Just let me
see him once!’’ he repeated over and
over in half imprecation, half prayer.

One hour, fifty-nine minutes and
fifty-one seconds of the period of grace

had sped, when Ammerton at last suc-
ceeded in bribing his way into 'the
crowded subterranean bank vault. The
place was jammed with sweating hu-
manity, lighted only by a few candles,
and filled with the fearful din of fren-
zied sinners on their knees.

Becker was there. He was on his
knees, arms wildly waving.

But that moment he saw Ammerton
pushing through the crowd, advancing,
his face a mask of grim vengeance, to
level an automatic pistol.

“Don’t !’’ shrieked the Judas.

“You betrayed me, and made me the
scorn of the world!” said Ammerton,
calm and implacable now. “So, the
world’s vengeance — ”

His words were lost in the sudden,
screaming awfulness high above. The
heat of the earth’s surface, as its atmos-
phere was consumed like a flimsy cur-
tain, suddenly mounted to millions of
degrees! The bank building, like all
other excrescences on Earth’s surface,
suddenly became molten over their
heads. The surface too — even before
the actual impact —

But just as he himself dissolved into
'Va wisp of smoke and nothingness, Am-
merton squeezed the trigger of his pis-
tol. Flame spurted, meeting greater
flame in mid-air.

The bullet never reached its mark,
for the mark had gone. The vault,
along with the planet Earth, melted,
became gas, exploded — all in a trice.
The cupro-nickel slug from the gun
melted in flight and disappeared.

But Ammerton, dissolving into fires
hotter even than the imagined hell of
his forefathers, believed in dying that
he had avenged the wrong.

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EVER-^EADY

A Warp in Space-Time Catapults Jim Dunning into
Another Age Four Centuries Hence!

% AiTMOK LE@ ZAOAT

Author of "The Lanson Screen," "The Land Where’ Time Stood Still,” etc.

CHAPTER I

The Stratocar

J IM DUNNING gasped in the
surge of terrific he'at. A vast
roaring deafened him. He
leaped to the lashed wheel of the
Ulysses. In a single motion h6 loosed

Thalma wheeled back to the screen.

the fastenings and threw all the power
of his knotted muscles into a desperate
twirling of the polished spokes. The
deck slanted. The yawl shot about in
a foaming half circle and fied like some
live, terrified thing from the whirling.

topless column of fire that had leaped
out of the sea.

Dunning stared, over his shoulder,
across the lurid waters that a moment
before had been a glassy plain, silvery
under the moon of a windless Pacific
night. The crimson pillar soared stu-
pendously, the speed of its whirling
whipping the ocean into long, blurred
spirals of fire.

The tremendous blare of sound
leaped suddenly higher in pitch, became
a shriek. Something sprang into view
at the base of the fiery colinnn, some-
thing huge and black and round. On
the moment the sea heaved and climbed
heavenward till the flame was lashing
from within a huge liquid crater. The
dark wall of water expanded. A tower-
ing wave rushed toward Dunning with
incredible speed.

Dunning crouched over the wheel as
if to add the naked force of his will to
the frantic putt-putt of the Ulysses’
motor. The little vessel darted away
like a thoroughbred under the lash. But
the towering wave caught up with her,
loomed appallingly above her. A briny
avalanche crashed down on the doomed
craft.

Jim Dunning fought for his life in
a seething welter of waters. A hatch-
cover, torn from its hinges, thudded
against him. With a last, instinctive
effort he hauled himself across the
cleated plank, clung to it desperately
as consciousness left him.

A reckless bet with some of his club
members had sent Jim Dunning out

A Novelette of

•ecrets

^42

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

from ’Frisco, six weeks before, on his
disasterous attempt to cross the Pacific,
single-handed, in a thirty-foot, auxil-
iary-engined yawl. And now in the
greying dawn, his still shape floated on
the tiny raft amidst a mass of wreck-
age. About him the vast circle of the
horizon enclosed a waste of heaving
waters, vacant of any life. Only a light
breeze ruffled the sea’s surface, calm
again after the sudden disturbance of
the night.

Eventually his eyes opened. Hope-
lessly, he raised his head. A curious
object that looked like a large spherical
buoy, floating half submerged, met his
■gaze. But what was a buoy doing here,
a thousand miles from the nearest land,
in water a half mile deep?

Dunning kicked off his shoes and
swam strongly through the cool brine.
The great ball hung above him as he
floated, its exterior glass-smooth. He
swam slowly around it, searching for
some projection that would enable him
to get to its summit. Inches above the
water a threadlike crack showed. It
made a rectangle three feet wide by
five. Was it an entrance to the interior
of the ball whose floating showed it to
be hollow? There was no handle, no
means of opening it.

Dunning trod water and with the
flat of his hand he pushed against the
unyielding sector, inward, then side-
ward, with no result. In sudden ex^
asperation he drove his fist against the
polished surface and yelled : “Open,
damn you, open up and let a fellow in!’’

A mazingly, the metal moved!

Dunning stared as the curved
panel jogged inward for an inch, then
slid smoothly aside.

“It’s like the Arabian Nights,” he
muttered. “I yelled ‘open sesame’ and
it opened.” A prickle along his spine
did deference to the uncanny happen-
ing. Then, oddly enough, he chuckled.

“That’s it! An electric robot. Noth-
ing to be scared of.”

Only a week before Dunning’s de-
parture Tom Barton had demonstrated
to him this latest ingenuity of the elec-
trical wizards. It was installed in
Barton’s garage, a phon-electrfc cell so
adjusted that at the coded honking of

a horn it would set a motor in motion
to open the doors. Barton had picked
up the idea at the airport, where the
same device turned on the floodlights
in response to a siren signal from an
approaching airplane.

“If honking horns and howling sirens
can open doors, vrhy not the human
voice? Well, let’s take a look at the
Forty Thieves.”

Gripping the' opening’s lower edge
Dunning leaped out of the water and
through the aperture. He was in a con-
fined chamber, its walls and ceiling the
vaulted curve of the sphere itself.

Sprawled across the flat floor was a
girl, unmoving. Dunning caught his
breath at the white beauty framed by
long black hair that cascaded along her
slim length.

“No!” he groaned. She can’t be
dead!”

Dunning bent over the gkl and lifted
one limp hand, feeling for a pulse.
There was a slow throb. A long whistle
of relief escaped him. She was breath-
ing, shallowly but steadily, and her
dark lashes quivered a bit where they
lay softly against the curve of her pale
cheeks.

There was a couch just beyond the
girl. He lifted her to it, laid her down.
Gently he straightened her robe of
some unfamiliar, shimmering material
— and whirled to some inimical pres-
ence glimpsed from the corner of his
eye.

He crouched, his spine tingling with \
ancestral fear, his brawny arms half
curved, his great fists clenched. But
the man did not stir. Seated at a desk-
like object just beyond the opening, he
stared straight before him. It was his
uncanny rigidity, the fish-white pallor
of his face, that were so menacing. He
was dead.

Dunning moved cautiously across
the floor toward the seated corpse. It
toppled as he reached it, thumped sog-
gily to the floor.

The acrid odor of burned flesh stung
Dunning’s nostrils. There was a huge
cavity in the cadaver’s chest, its gap-
ing surface blackened and charred by
some searing flame!

Dunning swung his back to the wall,
and his glance darted about the room.

LOST IN TIME

The dead man and the unconscious girl
were the only other occupants of the
hemisphere. Had someone killed the
man, struck the girl down, and
escaped? But how had he managed it?
There was no room for an attacker be-
tween the body and the contrivance
before which it had been seated.

That strange object was of some un-
familiar, iridescent metal. It had some-
what the size and contour of an old-
fashioned roll-top desk, minus the
side wings. Across the center of the
erect portion, where the pigeon-holes
should be, stretched a long panel of
what appeared to be milky-white glass,
divided into two portions by a vertical
metal strip. Above and below, tangent
to the edge of the long panel at the
ends of the metal strip, were two round
plates of the same clouded glass. In
spaces to left and right of these disks
were arrayed a number of dial-faces;
gauges or indicators of some kind.

On a waist-high, flat ledge were lit-
tle colored levers, projecting through
slitted grooves. From the forward
edge of this a metal flap dipped down
some four inches. Through this metal
flap a hole gaped, its curled edges
melted smpoth by a flame, by the flame
that had killed the man at his feet!

OMETHING hard thrust into his
back.

“Don’t move,! Twitch a muscle and
you die !”

Dunning froze rigid at the crisp com-
mand. That voice from behind, vibrant
with threat, was yet unmistakably
feminine.

Dunning obeyed. A vague strange-
ness in the words bothered him. They
were oddly accented. The low-timbred,
contralto voice was speaking English,
but an English queerly changed, glori-
fied in sound, lambent with indefinable
majesty.

A hand passed over his body.

“You seem to be unarmed now —
turn around, slowly.”

The girl was standing a yard away,
pointing a black tube steadily at , him.
Her lips were scarlet against the dead
white of her skin. Her eyes were di-
lated. Rage — and fear — stared forth
from their grey depths.

“What have you done to Ran? Why
have you killed him?”

“Nothing. I — ”

“You lie!” she blazed at him. “You
lie! You’re one of Marnota’s helots —
sent to murder me! But how did he
dare — open assassination? There is
still law in the land — in spite of him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking
about, sister,” Dunning drawled. “My
yawl was wrecked last night. When I
came to, I saw your — this thing, what-
ever it is, and swam to it. The hatch-
way opened, you were on the floor,
dead to the world. I lifted you to the
couch, looked around, and found —
this. I know less than you do how
Ran was killed;”

A flicker of doubt crossed the girl’s
face. There was an almost impercepti-
ble relaxation of her tenseness.

“Your voice is so strange, you speak
so queerly. Where do you come from?
What are you?”

“I am an American.”

Suspicion flared again, and hate.
Dunning waited what seemed ages for
a flash from the cylinder of death.

“But — somehow — you don’t seem a
murderer,” she said. “You have not
the brutish appearance of Marnota’s
mercenaries. There is something
strange here, something I don’t under-
stand.” The tube wavered, dropped a
bit.

Dunning saw his chance. His hand
flicked out, closed on the uncanny
weapon; wrenched it away. The girl
gasped. She was white, congealed
flame.

“Go ahead,” she whispered defiantly.
“Finish your task. Press the button
and kill me.”

“I haven’t any desire to kill you, or
to harm you,” Dunning chuckled. “I
only want to know what this is all
about. I’m Jim Dunning. What’s your
name?”

“I am Thalma, Thalma of the house
of Adams,” she proclaimed proudly.

“Sorry, Miss Adams. The name
means nothing to me.”

Amazement showed in her mobile
features.

“You do not know me!” she ex-
claimed, wonderingly. “And you say
you are an American?”

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

“I left San Francisco six weeks ago.
Have you become famous since then?”

She shook her head, still bewildered.
Dunning continued.'

“Up to then I’m sure I knew what
was going on. I read the papers. New
York had just won the World Series.
Franklin Roosevelt was President of
the United States^ — ”

A startled exclamation came from
Thalma. Her weapon dropped from a
hand flung up as if to ward off a blow.

“Rooseveit — President! Why —
that’s ancient history. What year was
that?”

“What year? This year, of course,
1937.”

“Nineteen-thirty-sevan! What are
you talking about? This is 2312 A. D.”

CHAPTER II
No Way Back

J IM DUNNING was staggered.

Twenty-three, twelve! She was
era — No, she wasn’t. There was no
madness in her wide eyes, only dawn-
ing comprehension — and fa^omless
terror.

“Marnota!” Thalma said fiercely.
“What has he done to me?”

“What — ” Dunning forced past the
constriction in his own throat. “What
do you mean?”

“He — Marnota — somehow he’s
thrown me back in time., Four hundred
years back in time!”

The statement thudded against his
ears, and, incredible as it was, he knew
it for truth. There was something
about the girl, about this queer sphere
and its contents, about the very cloth-
ing of the girl and her murdered com-
panion, that cpnvinced'him, against all
reason.

“What shall I do?” Thalma’s whim-
per was the frightened cry of a small
child, alone with the dark and with
blind, overvyrhelming fear.

Dunning took two steps to her side.
His arm went around her shoulder,
protectingly.

“You just trust your Uncle Jim!
Everything’s going to be all right, sure
as God made little apples. Just sit

down over here, and powder your nose,
or whatever they do in your time. Then
you can tell me all about it.” They
moved toward the couch.

But they never reached it. The
globe lurched and sent them reeling
tdizzily to the wall. They were buried
beneath a crushing weight of bitter wa-
ter. They were caught in a storm. The
floor careened again, and they were
sliding toward the open hatchway
through which the invading wave
soughed out. Mountainous waves
were piled high against a slanting,
jagged horizon. Dunning’s feet struck
the sill. Braced against it, he saw the
girl’s white form plunge past him. He
snatched at her, just managed to
clutch her foot and wrest her from the
grip of the out-swirling wave.

Just above him was the door-slide.
He surged to his feet and thrust the
panel home.’

The sphere’s interior was aglow with
a soft light that came from everywhere
and 5 nowhere. The imprisoned rem-
nant of the wave rushed crazily across
the lurching floor. Dunning steadied
himself against the wall.

From somewhere above^ him he
heard the girl’s voice, shrill through
the clamor of the storm ;

“Wait! I’ll get us out of this in an
instant.”

He looked up. Thalma was pulling
herself along the wall, up the steep
slope. The floor’s slant reversed itself,
and she was flung against the desklike
object where Ran had met his death.
She caught at it, swung around to its
front, was leaning over the panel
through which a hole had been melted
as if by a flame. One arm reached for-
ward to the levers,

“Stop!” Dunning bellowed from a
suddenly dry throat. “Don’t touch that
thing !” He hurled himself through
space, threw the girl headlong from the
board. “You fool! You little fool!”

She beat at him with her puny fists
as the sphere lurched again, and
whirled dizzily.

“What are you doing? We must get
up and out of this storm ! The stratocar
will be wrecked !”

Dunning thrust her away, threw him-
self to the floor, rolled on his back.

LOST IN TIME

jerked his head and shoulders within
the space beneath the level desk that
held the colored handles. He reached
in and wrenched at something, then
slid out again.

“Look at this !” he growled.

He held up a black cylinder to
Thalma. It was the counterpart of
that with which she had threatened
him except that the trigger-button was
missing, and that two fine wires dan-
gled from the place where it had been.
He struggled to his feet.

“That,” he said grimly, “is what did
for your friend Ran.”

HALMA paled.

“And would have blasted me had
I touched the levers ! You have saved
my life. How did you know it was
there?”

“Had to be. The shot that finished
him must have come through that hole
in the panel. I had just figured that out
when you jumped me. When I looked,
just now, I could see these wires didn’t
belong there, that they were spliced
crudely. And this was exactly like
yoxor weapon.”

For a moment the tempest had lulled,
but now it gripped the ball again. The
orb whirled, tossed insanely.

“You said something about getting
us out of this.” Dunning had to shout
to make himself heard. “Better do it,
now, if you can, or we’re done for.”

He braced Thalma against the board.
She pushed a red-tipped lever. Dun-
ning felt the floor thrust against his
feet. The sphere steadied, and the si-
lence was startling after the tumult.
The girl returned the lever to its orig-
inal position and pressed a button at
the comer of the board. The milky-
white panels on the upright cleared.

Dunning was gazing through what
seemed like open windows at a vast
panorama. In the lower disc, black
clouds billowed. Mountains of vapor
thrust up from the rolling mass, were
illumined by the sun’s brilliant rays. In
the halves of the long, rectangular
panel he looked far over the storm
clouds, to where a green, untroubled
sea rose and fell. In the left-hand sec-
tion the sun itself rode dazzling in a
clear sky, a sky whose deep blue was

repeated in the upper disc. Against the
wUteness of a cloud to the right Dun-
ning saw a round black blotch that he
realized with a shock was the shadow
of the sphere in which he rode.

“Why,” he exclaimed, “those screens
show everything outside — all around,
above and below!”

“Of course ! How else could the
stratocar be navigated?” Thalma
seemed astonished at his surprise. “I
forget. The visoscope was invented
late in the twenty-second century.
You couldn’t know an5rthing about it.”
Dunning looked at the girl ruefully.
“I must seem like a child to you. It’s
hard to recall that you are four hun-
dred years ahead of me. Do I under-
stand rightly, that this ‘stratocar’ is
some kind of flyer, like our airplanes?”
“Certainly! But it is far more effi-
cient. It can navigate the stratosphere
at speeds that to you would be unthink-
able. It utilizes the terrestrial lines of
force and stored solar energy. The
power coils are all housed in the lower
half of the ball. They are tremendously
complex, but the navigation is very
simple. Look here!”

Thalma turned to the control board.
“Move any of these levers away from
you, and the stratocar responds. Re-
turn the handle to its original position
and motion in the direction indicated
stops. The red lever is to ascend, the
green to descend. White is straight
ahead.”

Her slim fingers touched each small
handle lightly as she talked.

“Black is to — ” Suddenly her voice
dropped, her brow wrinkled puzzledly
as her hand fluttered to two levers that
were imcolored. “I’ve never seen these
before. I wonder what they’re for.
Could they be — ” Before Dunning
could stop her she had pushed one.

A cross the visoscope a flame shot,
crimson, whirling. The strato-
car’s interior was a timeless, spaceless
place, where there was no up, no down ;
no sound, no sight; nothing but a vast
heatless glare through which the pin-
point that was his consciousness fell
endlessly, rose endlessly, and endlessly
was motionless. He had no body, al-
most no mind.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

He was an atom at the center of a
tiny vortex, he was vast, gigantic as
the Universe itself. Then— was it after
eternities or in the next instant? — he
was himself again, and the stratocar
was around him, and Thalma was
there at his side ! The two looked
dazedly at each other. The girl reeled,
would have fallen if he had not caught
her.

“What on earth did you do that for?”
he asked excitedly.

She didn’t hear him.

“That,” she said slowly, “that was
how I felt before, and then everything
went black, and the next thing I saw
you at the control board, and Ran was
lying dead on the floor. I remember
now, he had just said something about
dipping to the thousand foot level.”

“There must have been two trick
connections to the descending control ;
one to the ray-gun, the other to one of
these two levers. That’s how you were
thrown back to 1937 the same moment
Ran was killed. But that’s neither here
nor there. Do you realize what you’ve
done? You’ve sent us chasing .through
time. God alone knows whether we’ve
gone forward, or back, or to what age.
We knew where, or rather when, we
were before you did that. We might
have figured out how to get you back.
But now — ” He threw his arms wide.

“Then — then we’re lost in time!”
Her eyes were big and round, her lips
trembled. "We’re lost in time!”

CHAPTER III
Murder Without a Clue

T he phrase echoed and re-echoed,
beat its terrifying meaning into
Jim Dunning’s brain. “Lost in time!”
The vast reaches of eternity seemed to
stretch before him, eons upon eons
through which he and the girl were
doomed to flee, searching desparingly
for a familiar world. In the visoscope
nothing showed but a cloudless sky
and a vast green sea that heaved oilily.
Had the sphere and its human con-
tents been thrown back to the very
dawn of history? Or forward into the
dim future of a dying world?

A choked sob broke in on Dunning’s
thoughts, and a little hand grasped his
arm. '

“What are we going to do now?”

“Look here, young lady, there’s
nothing to worry about,” he mollified
the tearful Thalma. “Why, we’re mak-
ing progress. We know how to navi-
gate in time now. All we have to do
is to find out what year we’re in, and
then — zip, presto — we’ll have you back
in 2312.”

A voluntary smile responded to his
buoyant tone.

“I never thought of that. There are
two strange levers. If one sends us
one way, the other will do the reverse.
There must be some way of regulating
the mechanism.”

“Of course there is!” No use worry-
ing her, but that was just the difficulty.
How control the time-traveling mech-
anism while one was merely a bodiless
consciousness? “First thing to do is
find some land, some people, and locate
ourselves in time. Do you know which
of these levers to pull?”

Thalma seated herself at the control
board. “Which way?”

“East. See America first!”

The girl glanced at a dial on which
were the familiar compass markings,
then deftly moved a lever. The sea be-
gan to glide smoothly toward the bot-
tom of the lower view-disc.

Were it not for the evidence of the
visoscope Dunning would not have rea-
lized that the stratocar was moving, so
vibrationless was its progress. The girl
was still pale, and her hands were
quivering. He must get her mind off

LOST IN TIME

their present plight.

“I wish you would tell me what all
this is about. Things have been hap-
pening so quickly around here that
there hasn’t been any time to ask ques-
tions. For instance, who is this Mar-
nota?”

“Marnota is America’s greatest ^sci-
entist, since, my father’s death. He is
my uncle and my guardian. He and
father,- together, invented these strato-
cars and countless other things that
have revolutionized civilization.
Through their inventions they gained
tremendous power. A quarter of the
population of the United States is em-
ployed by Adams, Inc. Its factories,
its transportation lines, its ports and its
warehouses blanket the Americas. The
prosperity, the very existence of the
smallest village in the country depends
on the company.

“Why do you think he would wish
to harm you?’’

“I know he would. Although my
father and Marnota were brothers, they
differed widely in everything but their
scientific genius. My father envisaged
his work as something that would
make the world a paradise, reduce the
hours of labor, increase everyone’s op-
portunity for luxury and culture. He
wished to donate everything to the
government, to- reserve a mere liveli-
hood for himself. But all their inven-
tions were owned jointly by the
brothers and Marnota would not per-
mit this to be done. Money is his god.

“While father lived simply, and de-
voted his great wealth to the people’s
welfare, Marnita built himself great
palaces, filled them with sycophantic
degenerates who pandered to his vices.
He came to my father repeatedly with
urgings to reduce wages, lengthen
hours, increase prices. Adams, Inc.
was all-powerful, he argued. The peo-
ple might grumble, but would have to
submit.”

T HALMA paused for a moment.

“When I was just fifteen, after a
particularly virulent argument in
which my father made it clear once for
all that he would never agree to Mar-
nota’s schemes, he was killed by an ex-
plosion in the laboratory. Strangely

enough, Marnota, who had been work-
ing with him on some new problem,
had been called away not fifteen min-
utes before the fatal accident. The
laboratory was completely demolished.
There was no way of teUing just what
had happened.”

“Sounds suspicious, as you tell it.
But, after all, Marnota was your
father’s brother. Do you really believe
that he — ”

“I’d believe any villainy of Mar-
nota,” the girl flared. '“He is vile, I
tell, you, vile!” Thalma was somehow
less lovely as hate darkened her clean-
cut features. There was a long pause,
while her unfocused eyes stared into
vacancy. The stratocar swam steadily
eastward. No hint of what age they
were in showed in the visoscope.

The girl resumed her story.

“My father’s will had been made
shortly after my birth, before my
uncle’s real character had showed
itself. Imagine my horror when it was
revealed that Marnota was to be my
guardian, trustee of my inheritance till
I was twenty-one ! A week before my
twenty-first birthday he presented this
stratocar to me. A much improved
model, he said. It could be easily han-
dled by one person and he wanted me
to have the first one produced as a
birthday gift.

“I was pleased, but not for the reason
he thought. With this new flyer at my
disposal I could disappear, hide myself
somewhere until I came into my own.
For I was uneasy, frightened. My
death would mean so much to him. His
power over Adams, Inc. would become
absolute if I were removed. That night
I stole out to the car, planning to flee
alone. How well Marnota read me!
But Ran, my faithful servant aiid
friend, suspected my intention, and in-
tercepted me. He insisted on going
with me, and I yielded.

“We made for Hawaii. We were
above the Pacific when I heard Ran say
something about descending a bit. He
moved the lever. There was a sudden,
awfvil flare into nothingness — I felt my-
self thrown from the couch — and —
well, you know the rest.”

“That flame I saw, and the wave that
wrecked the Ulysses, must have been

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

the visible result of the warping of
space-time as the stratocar shot back
for centuries! What a devil that uncle
of yours must be, and how well he
planned! A murder without a clue —
the body hidden in another era. But
see how the man’s scheme had been
upset by accidents he could not have
foreseen! If you had been at the con-
trols, instead of Ran ; if you had been
over land; if I hadn’t happened to be
at that point in all the miles of the
Pacific ; he would be in undisputed con-
trol of the company, with nothing to
fear. As it is — ”

“As it is, I can’t see what difference
all that makes.” Thalma’s tone was
flat, hopeless. “I might as well be dead
as wandering aimlessly — lost in time.”

Once more that phrase struck a chill
through Dunning. In the visoscope,
low on the horizon ahead, a bluish haze
appeared. |The blueness deepened,
solidified. A dark fleck appeared in the
sky. It grew rapidly. It was a tiny
ball — the sun caught it and it glinted
coppery. ..

“Jim! Jim!” The girl’s fingers dug
into his arm, her yoke was strident,
hysterical. “It’s a stratocar ! A strato-
car! Do you hear me? What does
that mean?”

“It must mean that by some miracle
we’re back in your time.”

“Oh, thank/God! Thank God!”

“What’S that blue band around the
center of that flyer, and those black
discs ? There are nothing like those, on
this sphere.”

\Thalma wheeled back to the screen.
An exclamation of dismay came from
her.

“It’s a patrol ship, one of Marnota’s
police craft!”

ROM one of the black spots that
had caught Dunning’s eye a white
beam shot but. It caught the time-
traveler. The scene in the visoscope
dissolved into a dazzling radiance.

Thalma tugged frantically at the
levers. There was no response.

“They’ve got us in the neutralizing
beam. Our power is gone !”

A voice sounded in the chamber,
coldly challenging.

“What craft is that?”

The girl faced a circular device, cov-
ered with a fine metallic mesh, that
was inserted in the wall beside the
control board. “This is Thalma of the
House of Adams.” Her steady tones
showed nothing of the fear that stared
.from her eyes. “Shut off your beam
and permit me' to proceed.”

The voice laughed, sneeringly.

“The message received by Marnota
of the House of Adams purporting to
announce her return on the eve of her
majority has been found to be a for-
gery. My orders are to bring any
claimants,, should they appear, directly
to Marnota for identification.” Dun-
ning and Thalma exchanged startled
glances. The plotter had provided
against failure of his plan.

“I demand to be taken before the
Federal Court.” Thalma was defiant..
“Marnota may appear there, and deny
my identity if he dare.”

The voice continued; ignoring the in-
terruption.

“You will follow me peaceably, or I
shall be compelled to ray you.”

Thalma threw her arms wide, signal-
ing their helplessness.

“We follow, helot!” she cried aloud.
To Dunning she whispered: “One

flash of their ray-gun and there will
be nothing left of this stratocar but
some dust. Marnota would like noth-
ing better.”

The view-screen cleared. Close at
hand they could see the police-car, hov-
ering. The voice came again.

“Keep within a hundred feet of us.
Remember, the slightest swerve from
that position and I blast.” The blue-
banded stratocar began to move, and
with trembling fingers Thalma pressed
down the levers to follow.

CHAPTER IV
Death Behind the Arras

F aster and faster the tvvo spheres
cleaved the air, till below there
was but a tinted blur. The hazy earth
dropped away, was a great bowl, then
rounded again into a far-spread con-
vexity. Dunning peered at the control
board.

LOST IN TIME

“Look here, Thalma. The time-lever
you pressed returned automatically to
neutral position. That must mean the
time mechanism is set to make just
that one leap of approximately four
hundred years. That gives me an idea.
All we have to do is press the other
handle. We’ll shoot back to my time —
I’ll see that you’re taken care of there
for life.” His hands darted to the
board.

Thalma thrust it aside.

"No!” Low-voiced as the exclama-
tion was, inflexible determination
sounded in it. “No, Jim, I cannot. I
must remain in my own time. I must
meet Marnota face to face and accuse
him of his crimes. My father’s memory
cries out for vengeance, and the down-
trodden people lift their hands to me
in mute appeal. Something here,” a
white hand pressed against her heart,
“tells me that he cannot triumph.”

Dunning’s hand dropped from the
levers, and he was silent. He could
not argue against the burning vision
in Thalma’s grey eyes, the fire in her
low voice.

“But you can easily escape.” The girl
turned arid pointed. “There, just in
front of the couch, is a trapdoor to the
lower hull. Hide below there, among
the coils, till I am taken away. Then
you can steaLbut, shift the time lever
and go back to the twen,tieth century.”

“No!” Dunning told her firmly. “I’m
staying here — ^with you.”

They were slowing now. Below was
a far-spreading^ white city. Great
towers reached upward to the dropping
sphere. The rooftops were landscaped
gardens. Airy bridges leaped in a
gossamer network across mile-deep
chasms. Dunning glimpsed the Hud-
son, almost hidden beneath many
bridges.

In the middle of a watery expanse
Dunning recognized as New York’s
Upper Bay a circular building brooded,
black, ominous. Straight down to its
flat roof the sphere with the blue band
drifted, and Thalma followed. The roof
opened, dividing into many leaves that
slid one under the other, and a round
gap showed. The leading stratocar
dipped within.

Guards in bright green uniforms

surrounded them as they emerged from
the stratocar. Two mercenaries ranged
themselves on either side of Dunning
and the girl, seizing their arms at the
elbows. But just as they started for-
ward a voice rang out.

“Sergeant Farston!”

The leader whirled, and saluted the
communication disc. “Here, sir,” he
snapped.

From somewhere among the half
dozen private police crowding around
him Dunning heard a gasped, “Mar-
nota, himself !”

“You will bring the prisoners to me,
at once!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Gosh, the chief has listened in on
damn near everything the last week!”
someone said, low-voiced.

Presently they were marched to
Marnota through a circling corridor
whose marble walls showed fine vein-
ings of gold. Then the party was being
challenged by a sentry before a door-
way curtained by cloth of gold.

“Halt ! Who goes there?”

“Sergeant Farston and prisoners.”
“You will pass in at once, Sergeant,
with the prisoners. Orders are to dis-
miss the rest of your men.” The
guard drew the curtain aside. A bronze
portal behind it swung open.

® UNNING had a confused sense of

tapestry-hung walls in the room

they entered, of a floor covered thick
with glowing rugs. But a tableau at
the other end of the chamber, fifty feet
away, caught and held his attention as
the sergeant halted him just within
the closing door.

On a great carved chair of ebony in
the center of a gold dais, sat a small
thin man whose black ej^s gleamed
piercingly out of a shffp-featured,
hawklike face. Thin lips were twisted
in a cruel, sardonic srnile.

Marnota’s stubby hands rested on
the arms of the thronelike chair, and it
seemed to Dunning that the short fin-
gers curled and uncurled like the claws
of a cat toying with a helpless victim.

Thalma approached him fearlessly,
her slight form straijght and defiant.
The girl’s arm was outstretched, her
hand pointed at the throned man.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

“Remember, Marnota,” her clear ac-
cents rang out, “in the end, you will
fail, and terrible will be the price you

pay.”

Thalma’s arm fell to her side. She
swayed a bit, then drew herself again
proudly upright. A rustle of sound
drew Dunning’s eyes away from her.
He started. Behind the rich tapestries,
to the left of the entrance, someone was
hidden, someone in the green uniform (
of Marnota’s helots. He saw a black
death-cylinder, ominously ready.

Mamota’s sadistic smile deepened.
There was amusement in his silky
tones.

“Splendid !” he said. “You are a mar-
velous actress. No wonder you were
selected to come here with your ab-
surd claim to be my niece. Unfortun-'
ately the forger who concocted the note
that preceded you was not as skillful as
the surgeon who remodeled your fea-
tures.”

He turned toward Dunning and his
guard.

“Ah, Sergeant, you arrived a little
more quickly than I anticipated. But
I’ll be through soon, very soon. You
may leave your prisoner here, and go.”

The sergeant saluted, turned sharp-
ly, and was gone.

“I shall be finished directly, young
.•nan. Just step to one side.”

Marnota turned back to Thalma.
“Yes,” he purred. “You are a wonder-
ful actress. Too bad you have allowed
yourself to be duped into this impos-
ture. However, you will not be able
to deceive the court. You may go.”

Thalma turned wonderingly toward
the door. And suddenly Dunning un-
derstood Marnota’s amazing show of
leniency. The lurking mercenary was
posted to flash the girl down as she
passed. If there were an inquiry, the
explanation would be simple. Balked
in her attempted fraud, she had tried to
escape, had been rayed J>y an over-zeal-
ous guard. The cylinder would do its
work well, there would be no chance
for troublesome identification. He was
the only witness. He would not be
alive to testify.

Thalma came slowly across the floor,
straight toward the waiting assassin.
Dunning whirled. His great hands

spread wide, caught the arras on either
side of the form behind it. He lunged
forward, tearing the fabric from its
fastenings. He toppled, fell heavily,
with the writhing, heaving bundle in
his arms. A tearing dart of flame
seared his shoulder. He located the
round of a head under the cloth, and
slugged at it. The wrapped, entangled
figure slumped beneath him.

UNNING leaped to his feet —
glimpsed Marnota, standing on
the gold dais, blue flashes crackling
from his ray-gun — saw Thalma, just
outside the open door, struggling in the
arms of the outer guard.

Dunning was a maelstrom of light-
ning action, the very swiftness of his
movements foiling Marnota’s darts. He
sprang through the opening, thrusting
at the door as he went. The clang of
its shutting drowned the smack of his
fist as it splashed into the snarling face
of the guard. The helot jarred loose
from Thalma. His hand shot to the
ray-gun, jerked it from his belt. Before
he could use it, hard knuckles exploded
again on his jutting jaw, and the mer-
cenary crashed to the floor.

A siren moaned an alarm. Dunning
twisted to Thalma. She was snatching
up the guard’s weapon from where it
had spun as he fell. Its blue ray shot
out, spattered against the edge of the
bronze portal. The metal glowed red
and fused where the heat vibrations
impinged.

“The lock,” the girl gasped. “That
will hold him for a while.”

The siren’s wailing rose to new fury.
From around the curve of the corridor
shouts came and the thunder of many
rushing feet.

“They’re coming!” Dunning ex-
claimed. “We’ve got to get out of-
here!” He whirled to the right, hesi-
tated as from that side, too, clamored
an oncoming rush still hidden by the
arc of the circling hall. Aside from the
sealed entrance to Mafnota’s audience
chamber,' the black marble walls were
withou/a break. “Finish !” he groaned.
“We’re trapped !”

“Not yet,” Thalma snapped, her face
white but her eyes bright and fearless.
She was at the wall opposite the bronze

LOST IN TIME

door. Her hand reached out to it, her
fingers pressed the center of an appar-
ently aimless whorl in the gold tracery.
A narrow rectangle of stone shot down
into the floor, revealing a black void
behind. “Quick! In here!”

Dunning was on her heels as she
darted through. Some gesture of the
girl’s, indistinguishable in the darkness,
sent the secret panel thudding back
into place.

He crouched, listening. Had they
been swift enough? Had the screen
closed in time to conceal their retreat
from Marnota’s men? Or would the
cracking of heated marble show that
the ray-guns were at work, seeking out
the fugitives?

Muffled noises, the moaning siren,
guttural calls, an authoritative voice in
sharp command, came through the
wall. Behind him, Thalma’s heavy
breathing gusted and the beat of his
own pulse hammered in his ears. The
air was musty, stagnant. Dust, long
undisturbed, choked him. Fierce agony
seared his shoulder, sent tendrils of
pain raying through him.

A hand tugged at Dunning,

“Come!” Thalma’s voice was an al-
most inaudible whisper. “We’ve got to
get out of here before Marnota frees
himself and directs his stupid helots in
their search.”

The endless passage twisted, pitched
downward, so narrow that Dunning’s
arms brushed the walls on either side.
In the tar-barrel darkness even Thal-
ma’s white garments were invisible.
Dunning clung to her icy, trembling
hand, let it guide him down and down.

“This is the way I went when I
thought I was escaping from Marnota,
as he planned I should think. Jarcka,
Ban’s father, was in charge of this
building’s construction, shortly after
my own father’s death. He must have
foreseen I should some day need a hid-
ing place. By a minute adjustment of
the building machines, he contrived
this secret passage, with outlets in my
own quarters, in the corridor from
which we just came, and in the wall of
the strato-car hangar. It also connects
to a secret tunnel under the Bay, into
the city.” '

“Secret ! But thousands of men — ”

T HALMA answered swiftly. “Only
Jarcka himself knows of it. He
used Thorgersen’s Mechanical Mole,
converting earth and rocks into energy,
reconverting some of it into a lining for
the bore, harder and more rigid than
steel. I— Oh-h!”

She broke off in a wail of terror. The
tunnel had flared into a sudden lumi-
nescence. The walls glowed with a
cold, infinitely menacing light.

“What is it?” Dunning gasped, leap-
ing into new effort after the boimding
girl. “What—”

“The search rays. The kappa-light
that penetrates all inorganic matter.
Hurry!”

Far behind ruptured marble crashed,
and the confined space' echoed with the
awed snarling of the human hunting-
hounds. The passage dropped steadily,
curved dizzily, leveled out. Twisted
sharply — and ended against a rust-
red wall !

“Hell!” Dunning gasped. “We’re
cut off.” The clamor of the following
helots was appallingly nearer. “We’re
lost.”

“No,” Thelma cried, springing to a
stance in front of the apparently im-
pregnable barrier. “We’re saved.”
She thrust the captured ray-gun into
Dunning’s hand, gestured queerly with
raised arms, as if in invocation to some
strange god. “It’s the tunnel doorway.
Eighteen inches of beryllo-steel. Once
we’re past it, it will defy the rays for
hours.” I

Dunning whirled, crouched, his burn-
ing eyes on the angle that cut off view
of the passage through which they had
come. Pounding footfalls, shrill cries
of the pursuers, made a fearful sound
about him, and behind him Thalma’s
voice went on.

“Its lock is worked by beams of in-
visible, infra-red light’. Only Jarcka
and I know the combination.” Thalma
explained her fantastic actions. She
was blocking off the guarding beams,
one by one, with her waving arms.
When she finished —

A green uniform hurtled around the
corner Dunning watched, and toppled
headlong to the impact of his beam.
Another, and another, coming too fast
to save themselves, met the same fate.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

The narrowness of the passage forced
the pursuers into single file. The
bodies of Dunning’s victims jammed
the way. His position was unassail-
able — as long as his weapon’s charge
lasted!

Behind him he heard a little excla-
mation of triumph, and the squealing
of ponderous metal on metal. It told
him the door was moving. His victims
were piled across the corridor, a breast-
high mound of contorted corpses that
would hold the helots back for minutes.

“Jim!” There was sudden terror in
Thalma’s voice. “Jim! The portal is
jammed. It will not open !”

CHAPTER V
The Bomb

D UNNING’S tone was calm. “Try
again. It must open.”

“No use. The electric eye responded
to,my gestures, and the door started to
move, but something is in its gears,
blocking it. I can do nothing.”

“Well, they’ll know they’ve been in
a scrap before they get us,” he said
grimly. “Hey — ”

An ovid object, black, fist-size, arced
over the tangled bodies, hit the wall.
Pounding footfalls sounded.

Horror struck at Dunning.

“Down, Thalma!” This thing was
a bomb, an explosive grenade. He
leaped to it, snatched it up, hurled it
over the cadavers, far up the tunnel.

A tremendous detonation crashed
about him. Consciousness left him for
an instant, then flooded back. Every
bone in his body ached, his head
whirled, but he was alive. The glow
induced by the kappa-light search
beams was gone, and impenetrable
darkness blanketed sight. “Thalma,”
Dunning shouted, “Thalma!”

“Here, Jim,” a weak voice answered
him. “Are you all right?”

“Fine as silk. And you, girl?” Dun-
ning pulled himself to his feet and
groped in the direction of the voice.

“I-I’m a bit dazed. But there aren’t
any bones broken. Will we ever get
out of here?” Sudden joy replaced the
doubt in her accents. “Jim! I can

feel the jamb against which the door
rested. It’s open, Jim ! The explosion
must have blown it open. We can go
on, now. We’re safe!”

“Great!” Dunning exclaimed. “And
Marnota thinks we were killed ! Other-
wise he’d still be using the search-
rays.”

“That’s right. He’s sure we’re out
of his way at last. There’s a surprise
coming to him. Now I wonder if I
can get this barrier shut again.” Dun-
ning heard Thalma moving in the
darkness. “No. The shock must have
damaged the photo-electric control. We
shall have to trust to the debris to hold
them back. Come on. I shan’t feel
safe till we are well out of here.”

The footing rose, abruptly. Thalma’s
fingers on Dunning’s arm sent an elec-
tric tingle through him.

“The end of the tunnel, Jim!”

He sensed that she was standing be-
fore some unseen barrier, again was
going through the fantastic gyrations
that opened locks in this fantastic
world of the future. Abruptly there
was a vertical line of light in front of
him. It grew rapidly wider, filling the
tunnel end. The light blinded Dun-
ning’s eyes, so long used to darkness.

And then there were vague forms
about him, many hands seizing him.
Thalma screamed. Dunning grunted,
jerked. He couldn’t break the grips
that held him. He was helpless!
Caught! After all they had gone
through they were caught! Marnota
had outwitted them. He must have
known all along of this tunnel.

“Salom !” It was Thalma’s voice,
strangely joyous., “Jarcka! Let him go.
He’s my friend. He saved me.”

The hands dropped. A circle of
men, stalwart, clad in flowing, pastel-
hued cloaks, hemmed in the girl and
himself.

E ach was armed with a ray-tube
and the face of each was alight
with a peculiar exaltation.

“Salom!” Thalma was speaking to
one of them, tall grave-countenanced,
grey-haired, the evident leader. “How
did you know to come and meet me?
How did you know I would be here?”
“We didn’t,” the man replied. “We

LOST IN TIME

thought you lost. We were determined
that Marnota should not live till to-
morrow to claim your estates. We were
going through the tunnel to raid his
lair. To surprise and slay him.”
“Thalma.” Another spoke, shorter,
his stern visage seamed with anxiety
and grief. “Marnota broadcast a re-
port that you had been killed in an ex-
plosion of your stratocar. Ran, too,
has disappeared. Do you know any-
thing of him?”

Thalma turned to him, and there was
compassion, pity, in her eyes.

“Ran is dead, Jarcka. He gave his
life for me, when Marnota attempted
to murder me.”

Jarcka staggered, as if a physical
blow had struck him, and then was
straight, stalwart as before.

“It is high time to put an end to.
Marnota’s crimes. Let us proceed,
Salom.”

A sigh gusted through the group.
They started toward the tunnel en-
trance. Thalma barred their way.

“Stop ! You cannot go through. The
tunnel is blocked.”

“But you have come through it.”
Thalma told them what had hap-
pened. When she had finished there
was silence for a moment. Then Salom
made a hopeless gesture.

“It was our last, desperate hope.
Now America is lost indeed. Tomor-
row morning Marnota will appear in
court to demand immediate title to
your half of the company. Under the
law it must be given him and — ’’ Again
his gesture took the place of words.
“Tomorrow! Where, Salom?”

“In the Federal Court, before Judge
Layton. Layton is on our side, but he
is bound by the law. He will have
to—”

“You forgot that I am alive. The law
is on our side now.”

“Marnota will defy the law. He will
not retreat now. He has the power —
and he will use it.”

“No!” Thalma’s clear voice rang
out, and she was living flame in that
dim chamber, her face aglow with a
light that was somehow blinding. “He
has the power. But we have right on
our side. Salom. Jarcka. Take me to
a safe hiding place. We have all night

to think. To plan. We shall find a
way to defeat him.”

“Impossible,” someone muttered.
“He is too powerful.”

^^^^YEZ, oyez, oyez. The court is
open!” In ten centmies the
immemorial formula had not changed.
On the wall above the long, ornately
carved bench still was pictured the an-
cient representation of the blindfolded
goddess, with her balanced scales. The
justice, in his high-backed chair, still
wore Ae ancient black robes. Judge
Layton was a short, slender man,
stooped a little under the weight of his
years and learning. His jaw was grim-
set as he surveyed the scene below hini.

The row upon row of chairs that
filled the courtroom were occupied,
every one, by hard-visaged men who
wore the green of Marnota’s cohorts.
Each held, ready in his hand, the black
cylinder of his ray-gun, and the eyes
of each was fastened immovably on the
countenance of his master.

Marnota sat at the counsel table, his
bearing that of a monarch deigning to
appear before his subjects. There was
an aura of power, of dominance, about
him, and in the sharp blackness of his
eyes there was a glow of triumph.
Overflowing the seat beside him, the
flabby, bulging contours of him gross
and sensual, was Ranta, head of the
Adams Company’s legal forces.

At the other end of the- long table
Salom sat, his face an imperturbable
mask. Save for the clerk of the court
at his desk, and a single attendant po-
'liceman contrasting ludicrously with
Marnota’s armed display, he was alone.
He seemed the leader of a forlorn hope,
checking for the last of innumerable
times the disposition of the enemy and
his sparse preparations for battle.

He glanced at the huge, bronze en-
trance portal, at the small door behind
the bench that led to Layton’s cham-
bers. And finally at two screened open-
ings in the ceiling, openings that
Dunning might have identified, had he
been present, as the voice outlets for
the communication system of this
twenty-fourth century world.

“The matter of the settlement of the
estate of Thantala of the House of

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

Adams.” Judge Layton’s voice was
thin and quavering. “Any motions?”
Ranta rose with a mock bow.

“Your Honor.’’ His mellow accents
filled the great chamber. “I appear for
Marnota of the House of Adams,
brother of the decedent and his sole
surviving kin. We move that the title
to all property of the estate be vested
in us.”

Salom was on his feet. “Your Honor,
I appear to oppose this motion.” '
“Representing whom?” ,
“Representing Thalma of the House
of Adams, daughter of the decedent.”
A little rustle passed through the
great room.

“I object,” Ranta thundered. “Thal-
ma of the House of Adams is dead. No
attorney can represent a dead person.”
Salom’s voice remained calm and
low. “I submit, your Honor, that the
death of my client has not been proved
before the court. The presumption is,
therefore, that she continues' to live. I
move that the guardianship of Marnota
of the House of Adams over the body
and goods of my client, as set up by the
decedent’s, will, be declared at an end,
and that title to the property of the
estate be vested in my client.”

Ranta riposted, quickly.

“We have submitted affidavits from
several persons who state definitely
that a stratocar, in which Thalma of
the House of Adams was known to be,
was seen by them to explode in the air
above the Pacific Ocean. We have the
affiants in court and are ready to pro-
duce them.”

MUDGE LAYTON turned again to
Salom.

“That seems to settle the matter,
counsellor. Do you demand that these
witnesses be placed on the stand?”
“That will not be necessary, your
Honor. I can prove the existence of
rny client to the court’s satisfaction.”
“I, defy you to,” Ranta roared. “You
cannot prove what is not true!”

Salom’s voice never rose. “I can
prove Thalma of the House of Adams
to be alive.”

The lawyer turned, and pointed to
the massive entrance doors. As if his
gesture were a signal, they started to

swing slowly open. Eternity seemed
to pass as the space between the huge
bronze leaves widened. Salom’s quiet
words thudded into a deathly silence.

“Your Honor, Thalma of the House
of Adams.”

A slim figure stood in the aperture.
The paleness of Thalma’s set face
matched her white garment. Only her
eyes were alive, darkly grey, as they
sought and held Marnota’s gaze.

The crack of the judge’s gavel cut
short a rising murmur. “The motion
of Marnota of the House of Adams is
denied. I grant — ”

“Stop !” Mamota’s cry cut short the
words. He was on his feet. As if at
an unvoiced command his helots had
also risen. “I’ve had enough of this
farce. What you grant or deny is no
concern of mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and your law have no power
over me. My men have surrounded the
White House, have invested every
army barracks, every police headquar-
ters, in the nation.” He raised his right
arm high above his head. “When my
arm drops, the signal will be flashed,
and the government whose law you ad-
minister will be at an end. From now
on I am the law!”

“Marnota!” Thalma’s voice rang
sharply from the door. “Marnota !
You will never give that signal!”

The bronze doors clanged, shutting
her out. Swift action exploded in the ,
courtroom. Salom, with agility beyond
his years, lifted himself over the bar-
rier, and leaped to the little door be-
hind the judge’s seat through which
Layton, the clerk and the lone attend-
ant had already darted. A roaring
sound filled the chamber.

At first like the^ growling of some
vast impending cataclysm, it shot
higher and higher in pitch. In seconds
it was a shrill scream, slashing at the
nerves of the imprisoned Marnota and
his helots, invading their quivering
brains with needling pain. Then there
was no longer any appreciable sound.
But Marnota, feeling thin a^ony whip-
ping through his body, knew that the
vibrations still kept on, high above the
upper limit of human hearing.

At the great bronze door, at the

LOST IN TIME

smaller exit through which Salom had
escaped, frantic knots of green-clad
men worked with their ray-tubes to
force an escape. Some, deprived of rea-
son by the searching torture of the un-
heard sound, clawed maniacally at the
unyielding metal. A pandemonium of
curiously muffled shouts burst out.

As the myriad cells of tortured bod-
ies shattered into dissolution under the
Inexorable, destroying vibrations that
unceasingly poured out of the com-
munication discs in the ceiling, cylin-
ders dropped from palsied hands, legs
crumpled. The courtroom was a tre-
mendous shambles of writhing, d5ring
humanity.

¥ HE invisible, inaudible, vibration
of vengeance kept on. Mamota,
still holding himself erect by the force
of the tremendous, twisted will that
had been his undoing ; his face empur-
pled by the bursting capillaries of his
skin, his eyes dark pools of torment;
glared through a blurring haze the
heaving, dying mass that had been the
flower of his army. He strove to speak,
but the cords of his throat refused his
bidding. Slowly, with a defiance still
radiant from his pain-wracked form, he
slid to the floor. The arm that was to
have given the signal for L >p f’^g
out, quivering — There was not the
least stirring of any form in all that
crowded room.

Thalma’s eyes held no jubilance, nor
Dunning’s as they stood in the door-
way of that courtroom that was a tomb.
After a while they turned silently
away.

“Just what happened, Thalma? I

know that you arranged with your
secret adherents to have some kind of
machinery connected with the com-
munication system that led into the
courtroom, and turned on at your cue.
But I can’t understand how it could
have done — that.’’

The girl’s voice was very very weary.

“Some time in the twentieth century
it was discovered that bacteria in milk
could be killed by using sound waves
above the upper limit of audibility.
This process was extended to other
foods, but when it was attempted to
cure disease by the method, it was
found that while the pathogenic bac-
teria were killed by the vibrations, the
patient, also, was killed, or injured.

“What we did was simply to con-
nect the sound-sterilization machinery
of the Central Milk Plant with the
communication system of the court-
room, and turn the tremendously am-
plified vibrations into the courtroom.”

Jim Dunning was silent again for
long minute.

“You’re safe now, Thalma, and all
the great power of the Adams Com-
pany is yours,” he said finally. “You
can. carry out all your father’s plans,
unhindered, and make this country a
paradise.”

The girl’s voice was very soft.

“If it hadn’t been for you that could
not have come to pass. I should still
be — lost in time.” Silence, again; and
at last she spoke. “It’s a great respon-
sibility, Jim. Will you help me?”

In the grey eyes that looked into his
Dunning read something that thrilled
him. He knew that the world was
theirs — for always.

Thl&k of !tl A pint of lather from
Uttle more than an inch of Listerine
Shaving Cream. Such laboratory
data gives you an idea of the won>
derful quality, the downright econ-
omy, of this cream which is winning
men by thousands.

UMBEBT PHflRUACaL CO.. 8L Logis.

Alone on a Dead Star an Earthman Faces the Terror oF
Extinction — but Scientific Strategy Saves Him I

Twenty bulky figures clad in armor, confronted him.

DARK SUN

By RAYMOND Z. GALLUN

Author of "Saturn’s Ringmaster," "Old Faithful," etc.

ORBERT PONS did not like to
be alone here. Always, in the
gleam of instruments, and in
the smells and sounds, and other de-
tails of his environment, there was a
suggestion of ever -pending menace.

He would try to relax in his quarters,
which were quite as comfortably ap-
pointed as if he were at home on Earth.
He would try to read or sleep, but soon-
er or later dread, and the memory of

his responsibility, would drive him out
into the halls and chambers where com-
plex elements were refined, and where
machines hummed with quiet efficien-
cy, keeping fearful natural forces at
bay. ^

He would look at the tremendous
pillars that supported the roof of the
refining plant; and he would wonder
what would happen to them, and to
himself, if something chanced to go

DARK SUN

wrong with the gravity-reduction sys-
tem.

“Those pillars would break like dry
twigs!’’ he’d tell himself. “A man
would flatten out like a rotten fruit that
a dinosaur had stepped on! A dark
star is no place for a human being to
be I Mass makes gravity, and the mass
of Khoraba is countless millions of
times greater than that of Earth. Why,
if the gravity-reducers weren’t busy,
I’d weigh something over a hundred
tons!”

For many minutes at a time, Nor-
bert Pons would stand at some high-
placed window of the plant and stare,
gaunt-faced and haggard-eyed, out
over the awesome and almost feature^
less terrain of Khoraba, where natural
law itself seemed curiously warped
and hostile.

There was starlight here, as at home.
The Pleiades were all about this mon-
ster sun that had blazed gloriously dur-
ing another era of cosmic history. But
the nearest of those Pleiades was still
several light years away. They gleamed
with harsh brilliance in a black sky,
for there was very little atmosphere
here. It had not been dissipated by
molecular leakage into space; rather,
its own weight had forced it into the
substance of the dense, black rock of
Khoraba’s surface.

Only a tenuous and shallow layer of
hydrogen, lightest of elements, re-
mained of a once mighty blanket of
gas. Clinging close to the ground, it
glowed with a faint phosphorescence
induced by electrical emanations com-
ing up from Khoraba’s still tremen-
dously heated interior.

The expanse of the dark star’s sur-
face was utterly level. No mountain
or hill could have lifted its crest against
the drag of the gravity. There was
little to break the drab monotony of
that limitless plain except patches of
glowing, dusky red, which marked the
positions of hot lava pools.

S UCH was Khoraba, named after
some horror of Martian myth.
On the desolate immensity of its outer
shell, the refining plantj which had been
assembled in space ten years ago and
lowered into position with its gravity-

reducers functioning, was like a button
carelessly dropped on the Sahara.

Norbert Pons wasn’t a coward — at
least not in most ways. Death had
threatened him often during the inter-
planetary war in which Mars and Earth
had/ defeated the Venus-Ganymede-
Europa coalition. But those hectic
moments of struggle seemed child’s
play to being the only man on Gargan-
tuan Khoraba. There had been gay
moments of relief, then, with his com-
rades, and when death came it was
swift. Demolition beams dissolved
matter instantly, no gruesome rem-
nants remained, and the feeling experi-
enced by the survivors was more a
feeling of vague surprise than of hor-
ror.

Pons had never seen a man crushed
in the inconceivable grip of a dark sun,
yet his fancy could fill in the knowl-
edge gaps with ghastly vividness.
There’d be a wide blot, irregular in
shape like a bloodstain, with maybe a
white fragment of bone projecting up
from it here and there. In Khoraba’s
pull, most organic solids would act like
liquids.

It was not a pretty picture to hold
crystallized in one’s m^ \d, particularly
when one knew that he nust stay here
alone for a long time. Old Hans Ep-
stein, veteran guardian of the refinery,
had died of a heart-attack. Pons, his
youthful assistant, but recently intro-
duced to the mysteries of Khoraba, and
by no means accustomed to his sur-
roundings as yet, must carry on until
another expert was brought from
Earth.

Khoraba’s titanic gravity made it the
source of substances which could not
have come into being on any sphere^ of
much smaller mass and density. Only
the terrifying pressures existing with-
in Khoraba could have produced ele-
ments as dense and complex as those
numbered 205 to 221 of the Periodic
Table. These heavy, tremendousl}^^^
hard and refractory materials were '
now vital to the sciences and industries
of civilization.

Pons’ position would not have been
so bad if there had been sufficient work
to do, or if he had had human compan-
ionship. But with Hans Epstein dead.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

both of these things were denied him.
All the machinery was automatic and
almost perfect. It needed supervision
only because no mechanism can quite
be trusted.

During the first month after Ep-
stein’s death, Pons’ existence was one
of growing tension, that mounted rap-
idly toward nightmare pitch. His con-
stant worry about the functioning of
the gravity-reduction system’s 'power
units might have done irreparable
harm to his mind, had not reason told
him that he must find a way to relieve
the tension. And so he began to build
a small remote-control apparatus, op-
erated by radio.

This apparatus was not difficult to
construct. Within a week it was com-
pleted. It consisted of two small black
boxes.

One of jthese was located inconspicu-
ously in the rear of the switchboard
that stood in the power chamber of
the gravity-reducers. It’s operation
disturbed not at all the normal action
of the various devices on the switch-
board. The meters there could still be
read accurately, and the levers and
dials could be worked there. Just as be-
fore.

HE other box was portable. Pons
could keep it with him at all times,
no matter where he was, if he so de-
sired. Its meters and gauges could
tell him at a glance just how well every
part . of the gravity-reduction system
was operating.' It also had duplicate
controls with which readjustments
could be made, just as if he were ac-
tually in the power chamber.

Now that he was thus equipped,
Norbert Pons’ nervous dread was less
acute. He ate and slept somewhat
better. Fundamentally, however, Kho-
raba seemed just as terrible as it had
before. Grimly, the youth awaited the
arrival of the freight ships front Earth.

At last, far out in the star-sprinkled
void, there was a flicker of rocket-
tubes. A dozen vessels had crossed
the transdimensional passage from the
Solar System. Pons watched their ap-
proach from a window of his quarters.
Their repulsion plates glowing incan-
descent in their tremendous battle with

the pull of the dark sun, they slanted
grandly toward the landing stage. The
atomic energy of many pounds. Earth-
weight, of uranium, was freed in the
task of bringing them to rest.

Norbert Pons was almost choked
with relief as he rushed through pas-
sages and rooms, arriving at last be-
fore the great entrance air-lock. For
a little while now, he would be able to
talk with people from home. Clumsy
with haste, he worked the valves of the
air-lock.

“Hello there!” he called cheerily, as
the inner portal of the lock opened.

His happy smile of greeting did not
change for a second. Then, gradually,
the expression on his face became one
of idiotic surprise. Twenty bulky fig-
ures, clad in space armor, confronted
him. A half dozen demolition tubes
were pointed menacingly at his breast.
Pons saw the icy glitter of cruel rep-
tilian eyes behind the glazed fronts of
oxygen helmets. He saw the hobgob-
lin grins of fanged mouths, and the iri-
descent sheen of reptilian scales that
reflected the glow of illuminators.

Norbert Pons recovered quickly
from his consternation. He knew that
he faced merciless enemies, but he had
faced their kind before. Helplessness
he felt, but the acute danger of these
animate foes was not as fearsome as
the constant, brooding threat of Kho-
raba.

“Well?” he questioned coldly.

One of the intruders opened the
face panel of his armor. Guttural Eng-
lish, thick and blurred, issued from the
broad, troll-like mouth.

“We of Venus are never truly con-
quered, Earth-scum,” he said. “You
know why we are here. We shall take
over the plant. The loot of Khoraba
shall make us strong. We shall build
new fleets, and new engines of destruc-
tion. Our work shall go on until every
Terrestrial and Martian has ceased to
be! Now my faithful ones shall con-
fine you to your lair until I determine
what end is most appropriate for you!”

Pons was unarmed, and either pro-
test or resistance could have had but
one result — instant death. Presently
he was a prisoner in the room where he
slept. A guard stood in the passage

DARK SUN

before the door. The latter was locked,
but it was provided with a small, round
window through which the guard
could peer. The place had been care-
fully searched, for weapons. Escape
from the thick, metal-strengthened
windows was definitely impossible.

Still, Pons should scarcely have been
helpless. Circumstances had combined
to give him an opportunity the like of
which few captives have ever enjoyed.
Resting on a stout metal table was a
little black box, whose simple capac-
ities could now be used to accomplish
a grim purpose. The Venusians, rec-
ognizing it as a crude radio device of
some kind, but not studying it closely
enough to determine its true purpose,
had not troubled to rem>ve it.

EYOND the window^^of the room
were visible the grey, rakish
forms of the war vessels. ’ The major-
ity of the Venusians who composed
their crews were still aboard them, and
would probably so remain until the
party of twenty had completed the in-
vestigation of the plant. By now the
repulsion plates of the ships, working
on the same principle as the gravity-
reducers here, would be completely
shut off.

Inevitably and automatical/, Nor-
bert Pons’ attention was drawn to the
black box. His personal risk in what
he contemplated doing, would be
small. If everything went as it should,
the reducer plates here would continue
to work as usual. The gravity-reduc-
tion system of the entire plant was di-
vided into twelve sections, each of
which could be operated separately.
One of these sections was under the
floors of Pons’ living quarters alone.
The activity of the other sections could
be decreased as much as desired.

Now the Earthman strode toward
the box. His hands reached out.
Then, oddly, his movements were
checked. A flood of cold horror welled
up from the deeper recesses of his
mind. His cheeks whitened, and he
began to tremble. He could not force
his fingers into contact with the dial
that must be turned if the Venus fleet
was to be destroyed. To shut off any
portion of the gravity-reduction sys-

tem seemed more terrible to him now
than suicide by leaping into a white-
hot furnace would have been.

The science of psychiatry records
many strange and similar cases. Peo-
ple who live normal lives are seldom
subject to such quirks. But to a per-
son living in the malefic environment
of Khoraba, life is automatically ab-
normal.

Brave men, even on Earth, have
learned to feel terror for things far less
dangerous than the gravity of a dark;
star. Reason frequently tells them
that their fears are magnified, but emo-
tionally they cannot accept the truth.'

Norbert Pons had stayed too long|
on Khoraba, the inconceivable giant of
the void. By slow stages it had thrown
its morbid spell over his nervous sys-
tem. He could not grasp all the causes
for his fear yet, for those causes thrust
their roots deep into the shadowy re-
gions of his mind. Only accident
might bring him better understanding.

Roaring, snapping sounds reverber-
ated thunderously in his thoughts.
They were /ike the sounds of the col-
lapse of rigid metal, suddenly too
heavy to bear its own weight. He pic-
tured men reduced to bloody slime, and
the horror of the vision was too un-
naturally clear for his self-control to'
master. He who had gone calmly
through an interplanetary war, moved
backward away from the box, and
threw himself, face downward, upon
his bunk. A dry sob rattled in his
throat. Norbert Pons’ dread was be-
yond mere personal danger now.

For an hour or more he lay cursing
himself, and fighting his useless inner
battle. He could still hear the steady
drone of machinery, and now and then
guttural Venusian voices, conversing
in low tones.

Then a key grated in the lock of the
door beyond which the guard was sta-,
tinned. The guard entered, followed
by the hideous leader, who had ordered
Pons’ temporary incarceration.

The Venusian aristocrat spoke hiS;
thick, blurred English, coming swiftly
to the point :

“I have arrived at a decision. Earth-'
man,” he said. “The gravity of Kho-
raba offers me an opportunity ' to get

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

rid of you in a ,unique and interesting
manner. I am going to expose you,
unprotected, to that gravity. Earth-
man. I wish that I could do the same
to your entire race.”

ORBERT PONS was sitting up
on the edge of his bunk, now.
His eyes and face went dazed and
blank as he listened to the sentence.
His consciousness heard it and grasped
it. Yet, curiously, the overwhelming
wave of litter emotional collapse,
which logic told him should result at
once, failed to come. Rather, the sen-
tence brought to him a curious sense
of relief.

Pons was far more than merely puz-
zled. How could anyone explain his
strange, paradoxical reaction? It was
just this sort of death that he was most
afraid of, wasn’t it? Or was it?

His knowledge of psychology was
scant. He did not see at once the dif-
ference between fear born out of long
and morbid brooding, and thie fear that
comes from a sudden and not altogeth-
er expected danger. The latter can be
far less damaging. It is not the actual
clash of battle that does so much to
ruin morale ; it is the monotony of
waiting for a catastrophe that can hap-
pen within the next second or the next
hour or the next week.

The young Earthman did not imme-
diately realize this truth, but after a
moment the core of his fear arose into
his conscious mind.

Uncertainty had become grim fact
now. There was no reason to suppose
that the Venusian leader had lied when
he had pronounced sentence. But it
was not fact that Norbert Pons had
dreaded so much, but uncertainty — the
knowledge that there was danger, and
the endless suspense of waiting for it
to strike. Out of this suspense had
come his morbid visions.

This uncertainty was over now, and
so there was a faint spark of relief
glowing within Norbert Pons. The
check on his natural courage was re-
lieved. He looked straight into the
cruel, reptilian eyes of the commander
of the Venusians.

“Mind if I have a cigarette before
you take me out?” he asked quietly.

The Venusian bowed with facetious
grandiloquence.

“Certainly that is a small favor to
grant to one so soon to perish,” he re-
plied. "Ooboh, give the , Earthling a
cigarette, and light it for him.”

Ooboh, the guard, responded quickly
to the commands of his master, but
took the precaution of keeping his
demolition tube trained on the captive.

“Thanks,” Pons murmured.

For a minute he sat smoking and
planning. He did not look at the black
box, which rested out of reach on the
table, for he did not wish the attention
of the Venusians to be drawn to it.

Presently he evolved a simple
scheme. There was danger in it, but
he was reasonably sure that at least
part of it would work — if the awful
terror that had gripped him before did
not return.

When his cigarette was half smoked
he arose very slowly from the bunk,
his eyes turned toward the Venusian
leader who stood close at hand.

“Well,” he said in a mild tone.
“Let’s be getting along. I dislike wait-
mg.

At his first move, Ooboh, the guard,
had leaped to the door, his demolition
tube ready, but Pons seemed not to
notice. His every act and gesture was
calculated to check any hint of suspi-
cion.

“So be it,” said the Venusian leader.

With slow, listless, biit precisely
premeditated steps. Pons walked to-
ward the door. Beside the stout metal
table he paused, as if gripped by a mo-
mentary absent - mindedness,, which,
under the circumstances, could not
have seemed odd. Idly his fingers be-
gan to fumble with the litter on the
table-top — papers, pencils, books,
pipes. Many of these things might
have been the relics of fond memories,
to which he, a condemned man, might
now be saying farewell.

T he Venusian aristocrat behind
him^ did not hinder, though Pons
could guess that his cold eyes were
watching him closely, and that there
was a demolition tube pointed straight
at his own back.

' Gradually the Earthman turned his

DARK SUN

attention to the black box. The dozen
dials on its top were within reach now.
Each of those dials controlled one^ of
the twelve sections of the gravity-re-
duction system.

Now was the moment to act, if there
ever was to be such a moment. Pons
felt keyed up, as with a touch of stage
fright. There was suspense in this sit-
uation too, but it was not the product
of a long period of morbid .brooding,
which was now ended. It was the sim-
ple, thrilling suspense of a man, fight-
ing the enemies of his race.

Still moving his hand slowly, he
reached for the number 3 dial, which
controlled the gravity-reducers under
the landing stage. As if to do so were
only a bit of idle fumbling, he twisted
the dial to the zero point. The landing
stage was now receiving the full
weight of Khoraba’s pull. There was
no audible sign of any result, for what
atmosphere there was, beyond the
walls of the plant, was too thin to
transmit sound. The eyes of the Ve-
nusian remained fixed on their captive,
and so they were not warned.

Pons felt a wave of fierce exultation.
He had surmounted bis ghastly fear,
and he had accomplished his main ob-
jective. But he did not look through
the windows toward the landing stage
now, for he did not want to betray
himself to his watchful captors.

His fingers moved to dial 1, which
controlled the reducers directly be-
neath the floor on which he stood. He
leaned forward a little, against the
edge of the table. Then he turned dial
1 a tiny bit toward zero.

The result, however, seemed quite
out of proportion to the minuteness of
the turn. Norbert Pons,' yanked by
the sudden magnification of his body-
weight, pitched forward to the top of
the sturdy table. He heard a grunt be-
hind him, and then a clang of metal as
a demolition tube, weighing many
times more than it should have, was
torn from the grasp of the Venusian
leader and jerked to the floor.

Both of the Venusians were taken
completely by surprise. Neither had
known what was about to happen, as
Pons had. Ooboh, who stood by the
door, dropped his weapon a split sec-

ond after his master had done so. Then
he crumpled up like a thing of jelly,
and lay pinned to the floor by a tiny
fraction of Khoraba’s gravity. A
heavy thud told Pons that the Venu-
sian aristocrat behind him had fallen
too. Now the Earthman heard the
rasping sighs of labored breathing.

Pons was sprawled on his stomach
ort the table-top. His heart and lungs
were toiling painfully. Blood was be-
ing literally pulled’ from his brain,
making his consciousness vague and
dim. Yet he was surprised that the
sensations he was experiencing were
not as terrible as he had once antici-
pated.

With ponderous effort he turned his
eyes toward a window* The shapes of
the vessels on the landing stage were
changing slowly as the materials from
which they were made yielded to the
full strength of Khoraba’s attraction.
They were flattening out like lumps of
soft mud set cm a board. By now,
every Venusian inside them was dead.
There had been no time to put the re-
pulsion plates in operation.

From beyond the door of tb^ room.
Pons heard excited mutterings, which
reminded his hazy consciousness that
there were things yet to be dpne. He
gasped for breath. Then his hand,
which seemed to weigh a hundred
pounds, groped toward the black box
a few inches away. He gave each of
the ten dials which he had not pre-
viously touched a quarter turn toward
zero — enough to kill, but not enough
to damage seriously any machinery.
There were peculiar, heavy sounds,
and the excited mutterings ceased.

tr^HEN, once more, he groped for
111 the number 1 dial. He turned it a
very little more, gradually, so that the
further increase in his weight would
not overstep the ultimate limit of his
endurance. At first every fiber of his
body shrieked a protest of agony, then
numbness began to set in. Pons’ act
was dreadful self-torture, but it had a
purpose. Venusians were accustomed
to a slightly feebler gravity than
Eartbmen; hence, logically, a Venu-
sian’s endurance to the pull of Khora-
ba should be slightly inferior to that

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

of an Earthpian.

He waited until he knew that his
consciousness had almost reached its
limit. Then, slowly once more, to
avoid the danger of any sudden
change, he returned the dial to its nor-
mal position. Once more his body was
approximately Earth-weight. ,

After a few moments he was able to
stand on his feet again, Ooboh and his
master were inert but still alive. Pons
left them where they were until he had
readjusted all the dials. Then he
dragged them to a small closet, and
locked them inside.

Before beginning a tour of inspec-
tion through the plant, he stood^for a
minute before one of the windows
which afforded a view of the landing
stage and the wreckage upon it, and

the black plain beyond. His head
ached furiously, and his flesh was
damp with sweat, but within him there
was a strange, refreshing lightniess,
and a sense of freedom from an elusive
and terrible burden.

There was a new and unaccustomed
friendliness in the aspect of the dark
star now. Even the thin, glowing at-
mosphere, and the Pleiades above,
seemed to smile. The forces of this
dying colossus of space had yielded to
his will and had fought in his favor.
Though they might threaten, he wpuld,
never fear them again. He knew that
the wait for the freighters from Earth,
would not seem so painful now, or so
long.

“Khoraba, old girl,” he muttered
gently, and then he laughed.

Nexf Issue: THE IRON WORLD, a Gomple+e Novele+fe of
Robot Rebellion by OTIS ADELBERT KLINE

In the dark his face and hands glowed with a phosphorescent luminosity.

Author of “The Green Doom” “Day of the Brown Horde" etc.

CANNOT vouch for the truth of
all that happened on that chill
J — L January night in 1935. Such an
incredible experience is all too likely to
leave one with a doubt as to his sanity
at the time, especially when months of
suffering and shock have followed as
a contingent aftermath.

But this I can vouch for — a memento
that will remain with me the rest of

my days, and even until death reduces
my flesh to dust — a livid, crescent-
shaped scar across my breast — a scar
that burns and festers anew period-
ically, with a pain so excruciating that
it seems but yesterday that Darcondra
marked me with his blighting wrath
before he vanished, let us hope for-
ever, from the ken of the race he
coveted as an envoy of star conquerors.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

That night I had left my study desk
early, and after several hours of ab-
sorbed tinkering with the electrical ex-
periments which were my hobby, I sat
down at midnight to relax with the
customary tall glass of rum toddy. The
fireplace had never seemed more cheery
as I lay back, drowsing in the. Morris
chair. I had just picked up two new and
remote stations with my short-wave
set, and my old theory of inevitable
television was fast materializing. I
was reviewing the thesis of my next
article for the Reform World — to de-
fend the practicability of television —
when the knock came at my door.

It was a queer sound, not at all like
human knuckles would make, but more
like a tiny hammer-head muffled in a
leather stall.

I got up puzzledly. I hadn’t expect-
ed any callers. My bachelor study and
hobby lab were remiotely located in
Walden Park. Even in milder weath-
er few callers interrupted my volun-
tary seclusion. And ,with the ther-
mometer at ten below, it seemed noth-
ing short of an emergency that had
brought some one to my door at that
hour.

As I turned the lock I noticed a faint
radiation of warmth, as if the cold snap
had broken. I opened the door and I
was momentarily dazed not only by an
unquestionable wave of inrushing heat
but by the remarkable aspect of my
visitor.

“Good evening,” I said, almost sub-
consciously.

“Good evening,” a voice replied — a
voice hollow and metallic, which, while
the mouth opened and the lips moved,
seemed to issue indeterminately from
somewhere in the chest or abdomen.

“You are Walter Selds, the science
writer?”

“I am,” I affirmed a bit stiffly, look-
ing my caller up and down in an amaze-
ment and suspicion which must have
been obvious in every lineament of my
face. J

“You will pardon my boldness, I am
sure, when I inform you that I bring a
message of sensational significance to
Earth science.”

“Earth science?” I couldn’t help
emphasizing the planetary qualifica-

tion, “Why, certainly — ” I hastened —
“I’m always interested in new discov-
eries. Come in.”

I’d had the usual experiences of press
men and science publicists with quacks
and monomaniacs and it crossed my
mind that here was another that had
to be tactfully disposed of. But the mo-
ment the door closed behind my visitor
I knew different. This man had an air
of dynamic assurance — and. more ; he
impressed me with a vague, quickening
dread.

There was something awesomely un-
natural about him, an impression jolt-
ingly fortified by the inexplicable radi-
ation of heat from his body or from
something hidden in. his clothes. My
parlor had been comfortably warm be-
fore he entered ; it was now uncomfort-
ably hot — and the heat was remarkably
like that throtvn off by large quantities
of rotting vegetation.

H e didn’t take the overstufFed easy
chair I offered, but sat down
stiffly on a hard-bottomed stool beside
the fireplace.

“Will you join me in a toddy?” I in-
vited, while mentally gathering my re-
sources' for defense against any crim-
inal violence that might threaten from
this midnight visitor.

“Thanks, no,” he cut me off shortly.
“I have no need of stimulants as you
may have observed from the tempera-
ture of my body. We will dispense
with all subterfuge immediately. My
mission concerns the future of all
human life on this planet, and I must
impress you from the beginning that
any attempt you may make to thwart
me will mean the swift destruction not
only of you and your entire race, but
every trace of human handiwork on the
face of your Earth !”

So astounded was I by this blunt
ultimatum that I could only stand and
stare. Under any other circumstances
I’d have considered myself confronted
by a lunatic, yet the metallic, tripham-
mer tones of the voice as it delivered
its imperious ukase, the emanation of
alien heat, the subtly alien aspect of
the man in several particulars, trans-
fixed me with an awe and misgiving
that an ignorant savage might experi-

DARCONDRA

ence upon confronting one of his idols
in the flesh.

“First of all, you must be convinced
of my identity,” the voice rasped, the
eyes burning intensely, fiercely com-
pelling, into mine. “Study me care-
fully.”

He arose to oblige me.

A man of medium height and weight,
of undistinguished features. At first
glance he might have answered the de-
scription of any of a thousand average
Americans. The overcoat, suit and
hat were commonplace. There was
nothing unusual in the form except the
rigidly erect carriage. The strange-
ness lay deeper than that — an odd,
glowing pallor of the skin — an unnat-
ural brightness of the eyes — and that
persistent aura of pungent heat given
off through his clothes.

“There is certainly nothing usual in
your — er — personality,” I faltered,
checking a husk in my throat as I be-
came more certain than ever of an in-
credible other-worldliness in the deep-
er aspects of my visitor.

I saw his gleaming eyes flash to the
reading lamp and thought I noticed a
glimmer of fear or uncertainty as he
said brusquely :

“Turn out the light.”

There seemed nothing to do but
comply. I heard him mutter some-
thing under his breath as I pulled the
switch chain, plunging the room in
darkness save for the flickering flames
of the fireplace. Then I was blanching
at the spectral change in this self-in-
vited guest who was fast proving him-
self the master in my ovim house.

In the dark his face and hands
glowed with a faint, phosphorescent
luminosity. And through the fabric of
his clothes I noticed tiny sparks flying
off and vanishing like the disintegra-
tion of radium seen under a powerful
microscope !

“My God!” I cried. “Who— what
are you?”

“Turn on — the light.” Again I no-
ticed a slight hesitancy in his tones,
some repressed association of uncer-
tainty with the light.

A S I snapped on the light feeling
like a man in a trance, my inquis-

itor stepped jerkily to the library table
and picked up the daily paper.

He pointed to an item on the front
page. “Read that.”

I had already read the gruesome
story. A car found burned at the side
of a lonely,^ road two days before, its
owner missing, the body presumably,
but unaccountably, entirely consumed
in the flames. The man’s name, dis-
covered by tracing the motor serial
number, had been Ralph Bates.

“My body is that of Ralph Bates !”
rasped the voice. “But I am a Storla
of the Cosmos, and my name in your
language is Darcondra.”

“Darcondra!” I repeated numbly.
“You mean to say you are life from out-
er space?”

“Exactly!’’ the answer was impa-
tient. He ripped open the paper to an
inside page, tapped one finger to a brief
item concerning the falling of a small
meteorite in a nearby township.

“It was not a meteorite that fell that
night,” he informed me curtly, “What
they saw was my landing upon Earth
in my natural state. I am a scout, as
you call it, for the legions of my kind,
who are at present swarmed on the
edible worlds of Alpha Gentauri, your
nearest star system.”

“Edible worlds?” I echoed the star-
tling phrase, which seemed to choke
me in its utterance.

“Precisely. Perhaps you know, or
have theorized, that life is relative, as
is true of all states of matter and even
distances in terms of infinity?”

“Yes,” I stammered, “Herbert Spen-
cer expounded that theory years ago
and others have elaborated on it since.”
“It is, of course, a mere theory with
you regarding life in the Universe, but
you have seen, or will see, that it is a
fact with the Storlas, who have seen
it demonstrated in a mjnriad other
forms of life throughout space. We
Storlas are ionized protoplasm, that is
as nearly as I can convey a definition
of our substance in your language with
its mental limitations.

“Our sole means of subsistence is the
energy you C2dl electricity, whose
source originates in the magnetism of
a planet body. We live somewhat like
your storage batteries, and when we

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

exhaust the stored energy of a world
we migrate to another and other
worlds. Incidentally, when we leave a
world, it is in the process of disintegra-
tion for want of the magnetic preserva-
tive you call gravitation.”

I looked in frank horror into the
hard, brilliant eyes, felt a qualm of
nausea stealing through me from the
waves of alien heat that beat incessant-
ly upon me from this infernal visita-
tion in human guise.

“And what have I to do with all
this?” I, muttered. “You astound me
with statements of incredible powers,
yet you come to me as ifT could be of
service in my feeble earthliness.” Sar-
casm crept into my tones, a desperate
sarcasm, for I wavered between a con-
viction of my own madness and the
terrible dread that the millennium was
at hand. “For instance — you might
demonstrate how you assumed the
form of this Ralph Bates whom you
have evidently murdered.”

HERE was no hint of irony or re-
sentment, no emotion whatsoever
in his voice or manner as he replied —
only impatient baste, and an egotistical
indifference' to me as a personality or
even an important factor in his oppo-
sition.

“Ionized protoplasm, as we have
evolved,” he explained swiftly, “may
take any shape and appearance of sub-
stance it chooses provided actual con-
tact can be effected with a model. You
have a process by which you trans-
mute metals to a certain degree. In
the concentration of copper, for in-
stance, you may immerse a piece of
scrap iron in a sulphuric or hydro-
chloric acid bath, and in time the iron
is replaced by copper. Precipitation, I
believe you term it, the Douglas-Hunt
process. It is the . identical principle
by which I assumed the. physical
matrix of Ralph Bates. I am not, of
course, actually mere protoplasmic
flesh. Note this — ”

He stepped to the fireplace, plunged
one hand into the red-hot coals, which
glowed white immediately, blistering
the room with heat. For nearly a min-
ute he held his hand in that miniature
furnace before he withdrew it and dis-

played the member uninjured. Before
I could recover from my amazement,
he turned to the library table, picked
up a curved oriental knife that I used
as a letter opener, and' as I staggered
back in stupefaction, he calmly passed
the blade through his neck as if the
flesh were mere butter.

Holding the severed head in its
hands, the headless corpse confronted
me motionlessly for several minutes
with no sign of bleeding. Then the
arms moved mechanically, set the head
back on the stump of the neck, where it
fused in place immediately, a tiny band
of sparks showing briefly where the
ghastly incision had been made.

Darcondra’s lips moved again, the
eyes awakening with supernal life.

“You observe,” he droned on, “how
futile would be any effort to oppose me
in my wishes. Your bullets, explo-
sives, acids, even your death-rays could
not destroy me. I neither breathe nor
eat as you do. You might rend me to
atoms with your bombs, and I would
re-coalesce immediately, wreaking a
frightful vengeance of utter destruc-
tion upon my would-be assassins. As
for my destructive powers — if I. ex-
erted but a fractional degree of the dor-
mant heat possible for me to generate
and radiate at will, I would fuse you
and this house to powdered ash. The
entire neighborhood would be left a
charred ruin, where not even plant life
could ever find root again.”

My terror knew no bounds now.
Either I had gone stark mad or I faced
the most terrible peril that had ever de-
scended upon mankind and Earth.
Edible worlds ! Devouring conquerors
of the cosmos, sweeping from star sys-
tem to star system; sapping the very
foundations of life from the matter that
fostered it !

Surely no man had ever visualized
such a crisis, let alone confronted it in
cold reality. "I alone knew of this thing.
One puny, protoplasmic hunian against
this indestructible demon of stellar
space — this godless monster who was
the vanguard of a world-destroying
horde.

I panted in the insufferable stench
of body heat. Sweat bathed my brow
and palms that was not wholly due to

DARCONDRA

temperature. I must carry on — must
in some way circumvent this Caliban’s
ghastly designs.

“But I still can’t understand what I
can do for one of your infinite powers.”

I GASPED, hands clenching as I
steadied my tottering will to think
and act with some measure of effective-
ness.

“You are convinced, then, that I am
what I have said — that nothing you or
your race can do can thwart me?”

“I can’t help believing the testimony
of my senses,” I confessed, weakly.

“Then you will cooperate fully if I
promise mercy to your race?”

“Mercy!” I cried. "What mercy
could such monstrosities offer who sap
the very foundations of a world’s exist-
ence?”

Again no smile, no human reaction
whatever. Like a relentless, intellec-
tual machine, Darcondra droned on.

“You have no choice but to accept
my propositions on my own terms.”
He snatched up the knife with which
he had severed his head, clenched it in
his fist. A blinding, choking wave of
heat seared my face. Then the knife
fell leadenly to the floor, a lump of
cooling, blackened slag which no
longer retained even its virtue of mal-
leability.

“I accept!” I cried. “Tell me what
you wish, but in the name of universal
life, let me intercede for the innocents
of my kind. Anything^ — anything — ”
He sat down mechanically, and I
thought I caught a crafty evasion in
his fishy glare.

“There is an interference to our mi-
gration here — a mere trifle” — unmis-
takably I noticed again that flicker of
uncertainty — “you have an unprece-
dentedly crude means of utilizing the
natural energy which is the Storla’s life
flame. I refer to your electricity. These
power systems are offensive to u^ and
will cause us no end of irritation and
inconvenience when we come in great
numbers after my return to Alpha Cen-
taur! with reports of an edible world in
this system. You are a well known au-
thority on science publicity, in a posi-
tion to communicate effectively with
the presses, the radio broadcasting

units and the seats of political power.
In fact, it was your signature to various
news features that prompted me to
trace you through the directory. Under
my direction you will inform all neces-
sary authorities that the electrical pow-
er systems throughout the entire world
must be completely demolished as soon
as possible.”

“But I can’t guarantee — ” I was mo-
mentarily stunned.

“Of course they will think you mad,”
Darcondra interrupted impatiently. “I
anticipate that. But you will follow up
the ultimatum with an announcement
of a demonstration to prove my exist-
ence, my absolute power. On a set day
I will destroy utterly any designated
aggregation of matter. I will permit
your powers to choose what shall suf-
fer the test, and at the stated hour I
will consume it. If other demonstra-
tions are necessary they shall be pro-
vided with largess — but without fur-
ther choice of your powers as to where
my vengeance shall fall. Sporadic de-
struction will continue until the powers
of all Earth nations begin a concerted
demolition of all electric power con-
duits, storage and generator plants.
There must be no vestige of artificial
electrical generation on Earth when the
Storlas arrive.”

“And the mercy you offer human-
ity?” I implored. “What shall I tell
them — some hope to hold out for our
survival as a race?”

Darcondra did not speak for a mo-
ment.

“There are other worlds,” he said
presently and with obvious indiffer-
ence. “We may assist you in devising
transportation to another world in your
system. Beyond that I can promise
nothing.”

I knew then that Darcondra’s offer
of clemency was but a subterfuge. This
monster of alien life had no morals, no
compunction whatever as to honor in
gaining his ends in the frightful forag-
ing of his fellow hosts. I did not
breathe my conviction, but I knew
from then on that if I served as medi-
ator for Darcondra I would be an in-
strument of humanity’s destruction —
nay, even of Earth’s destruction as a
habitable planet in space.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

NE dim ray of hope remained —
the one hint of weakness I had
been able to discern in this terrible
creature’s supernal armaments. Elec-
tricity ! Our “crude” method of harness-
ing the invisible power that perme-
ated the Universe. At every mention of
electricity in Earth connotation 1 had
observed a fear — if fear it could be
called — of our voltage conduits and
power stores.

Emotionless though he was, I had
perceived this dread behind Darcon-
dra’s subterfuges of “irritation,” “in-
convenience.” This ghoul of worlds
would never have trifled with indirect
negotiations if our electrical develop-
ments were actually a “mere trifle” in
the Storlan conquest of Earth.

“It will require thought — it is a great
undertaking,” I stalled, desperately.
One hand, slippery with sweat, fum-
bled to a box of cigarettes on the table.
I took one with trembling fingers,
placed it between my lips.

“No thought is necessary!” Darcon-
dra rebuked me impatiently. “Merely
dictate duplicate telegrams to all the
departments of power by means of your
telephone.”

He was watching my cigarette with
a curiosity tinged with contempt. He
didn’t seem to notice my hand move to
the electric lighter on', the table, wired
from a plug in the floor. In my flair for
electrical apparatus, a parlor lighter
was but one of many a freak extrava-
gance in such appliances.

Darcondra’s hand rested along the
edge of the table as he sat rigidly, star-
ing at me coldly, compellingly. The
lighter switch, in the process of open-
ing and closing, invariably emitted an
arc of crackling, hot sparks, which
could induce an unpleasant shock if
contacting one’s flesh.

Suddenly, with my heart in my
mouth, I opened the switch and shoved
the tiny, sputtering arc at Darcondra’s
inert hand. I knew I faced probable
instant death, but I was hardly pre-
pared for all that ensued.

Darcondra leaped back, uttering a
grating screech. His eyes bulged in
livid terror, fixed in fearful fascination
on the sizzling tongue of flame from
the arcing lighter.

I feigned surprise, abject apology,
with all the courage I could muster.
Darcondra’s fear and fury reacted ap-
parently spontaneously. His clothes
smoked with a flicker of released heat.

I saw his pallid, glowing skin redden
like blown embers before he regained
full self-control, an instant later.

As I drew back the lighter, switched
it off, he was glaring at me as if he
would read my mind. Those terrible
eyes were asking, “How much does he
know? Can he suspect the truth?”

“I was overwrought — I didn’t rea-
lize,” I groveled. “It is only a lighter
for this weed we smoke.”

“It is nothing,” he said coldly, com-
pletely recovered, once more a consum-
mate master of guile. “I am amused
by this vandal means you employ in
utilizing the vital forces of the Uni-
verse. It is a deplorable waste. All such
devices must be destroyed with their
sources of generated power. You will
begin mediation at once.” And he point-
ed to the telephone on a small table at
one side the archway between the par-
lor and my laboratory where the lights
were turned out.

M y SENSES swam giddily as I
got up, the cigarette dangling
cold and forgotten in my lips. My heart
hammered lantil it seemed the rush of
blood would blot out all consciousness.
In that moment I prayed that I might
faint. I knew the secret of Darcondra’s
fear — yet how could I use it? What cer-
tainty had I that my, first play in a
tragic drama of trial and error would
win?

He followed me closely to the tele-
phone stand. The stifling heat of his
nearness, the charred scent of his cloth-
ing, so nearly aflame a moment before,
unnerved me. I was no hero for an or-
deal like this— yet no man, not the veri-
est craven, could do other than make
one desperate stand to save his race
and world from annihilation. If I blun-
dered I would be destroyed with doubt-
less thousands of innocents in the vi-
cinity. And then another would serve
in my stead.

“Proceed!” Darcondra’s voice grated
harshly in my ringing ears. “Procrasti-
nation can avail you nothing.”

DARCONDRA

But my eye had alighted on an empty
contact socket hanging on its long con-
nection cord beside the telephone stand
and just inside the shadowed labora-
tory. As I sat down to the telephone
my left knee was within a few inches
of the terminal of the cord. It was a
socket I used in experiments requiring
a build-up of high voltage.

The step-up transformer on its stand
against the wall inside the lab was in
darkness, and I divined that its signifi-
cance would not be clear to the creature
even if he did discover it. In that high
tension socket, near at hand, at least
several thousand volts were on tap at a
turn of the switch, for I recalled leav-
ing the transformer at a high build-up.

With my right hand I began scrib-
bling notes and addresses on the pad
beside the t ele p h o n e. Darcondra
watched nie alertly on the right. I
dipped down and up with my left hand,
testing the socket switch in the move-
ment to make sure it was open. Again
my left hand strayed down to the sock-
et as I took down the receiver with my
right, called central.

Talking loudly, excitedly to cover
my secret maneuvers, I worked franti-
cally with my fingers, plucking out the
contact coil in the socket sleeve, until
it stuck out like a serpent’s tongue.
Now, with one quick turn of the socket
switch, I knew that if I touched the
protruding contact point, I would shriv-
el to ash in seconds. What it would do
to Darcondra I could not foresee, nor
did I care. It was my first and last
chance to win.

Darcondra tensed as he seemed to
notice for the first time the suspicious
movements of my left hand. He started
to step behind me, to investigate, when
I swept up the socket as if I held the
haft of a knife. One wild yell I sounded
as I buried the contact point in the
Storla’s luminous face.

A hideous screech blended with my
own mad shout. I felt a withering band
of flame sear my chest as a satanic hand
raked me. A blast of weltering heat —
then a jagged ribbon of blue flame
hissed and blazed where Darcondra
stood under the high voltage circuit.

I saw his clothes wilt and wither in
a smoking glare, and as I reeled for-

ward blindly with a despairing cry I
knew that the monster had vanished in
the grounding of the circuit in the
earth beneath the house.

T he chill of the outer night aroused
me later. I dimly recall crawling
on hands and knees along the street,
the house wrapped in furious flames
behind me. I do not remember who
found me or when. I was taken to a
hospital in delirium, frightfully burned.

My recovery was tediously slow,
complicated by a nervous malady allied
to shell-shock. For months I was hard-
ly ever rational. The burn on my.
breast, where Darcondra’s hand had
raked in the instant before the high
voltage disintegrated him, was last to
heal, its condition sorely puzzling the
doctors.

It was generally presumed by my as-
sociates and the press that I was
burned accidentally during an electri-
cal experiment which also set fire to
the house, and that the shock of the
ordeal affected my mind. In truth, no
sign of anything unusual was ever
found in the ashes of my house in Wal-
den Park.

And so I have only the scar as cor-
roboration. Darcondra, scourge of
eternity, if he was ever as real as my
memory pictures him, vanished utterly
in the process of some annihilating fu-
sion with the high tension circuit. He
alone could explain the phenomenon, if
in his evident dread of our power, he
fully understood it himself.

Now a haunting dread lives with me
of what the future may hold for Earth
and my fellowmen. Can we long hope
to evade the descent of another envoy
of the Storlan hordes? And will there
be one fortunate enough to thwart him
in his ruthless designs as I did?

Sometimes I entertain the faint hope
that Darcondra, being indestructible,
was not really destroyed — that his
blasted atoms reformed again in space,
returning to his kind with a tale of ter-
ror that will forever absolve Earth
from ultimate pillage by those scaven-
gers of the void that somewhere, at this
hour, are sweeping in meteor masks
From world to world, leaving immortal
devastation in their wake.

A BRAND-NEW, FASCINATING FEATURE

By J. B. WALTEB

BOUNCING GLASS!

A new product has been intro-
duced recently to the market
which may quite properly be consid-
ered a resilient glass. It has all the de-
sirable qualities associated with glass

and in addition a number of additional
properties that have been sought for
many years in a perfectly transparent
hard glasslike product. It is a poly-
mer of methyl methacrylate. It may be
colored or it may be produced clear as
crystal, free from the slight tinges of
green or yellow found in ordinary
glass.

It is non-shatter able, and can be
drilled by an ordinary drill or cut with
a regulation saw. A tumbler made
from this product will weigh but half
as much as one made of ordinary glass.
If dropped on a hard floor, instead of
breaking into fragments, it will bounce
from the surface and remain intact.

WE SEE BETTER THAN FLIES

T he eyes of man are three hundred
thousand times as efficient as the
eight hundred eyes of the housefly.
The eye of the housefly is compounded
of four hundred non-focusing eyes
called “Ommatidia” which, lead direct-
ly to the brain. The eye of the dragon-
fly is'-'^compounded of about thirty

thousand ommatidia. No wonder pop-
ular opinion has credited these insects
with phenomenal vision!

But the eye of man throws a focused
image upon one hundred and thirty
million tiny rods and cones, each of
which conveys a message to the brain.
Thus the human eye is more than three
hundred thousand times more efficient
than the eye of the housefly, and more
than four thousand times as efficient as
the eye of the dragon-fly.

THE SOLAR SYSTEM IS THE
OFFSPRING OF TWO SUNS

F rom the earliest days of astron-
omy, scientists have been offering
theories to account for the planets that,
circle our sun. None have been sug-
gested that have not met with serious
objections. The newest theory which
has not been seriously challenged to
date, is that the sun was a twin to
another similar great orb. For cen-
turies they circled about each other in
space. Then a disturbance caused
these twins to collide. The fragments
from that ancient cataclysm produced
our Solar System.

TERMITES OUTLIVE MAN BY
/MILLIONS OF YEARS

F or all his vaunted superiority,
man must bow to the cockroach,
the ant, and other termites, when one
considers the rnost important achieve-
ment of all, the ability to go on living,
whether conditions be favourable or
otherwise. Neither glacial epochs, nor
world wide disaster has destroyed the
termite.

Man and all the species of man, has
been on the earth, by the most liberal

SCIENTIFACTS

calculation, less than thirty million
years. But the termite, with little
change, has been shown by scientists

to have been an inhabitant for more
than three hundred and sixty million
years.

EXTREME COLD PRODUCES
MUTATIONS

HE story of evolution is a tale of
variation between parent and off-
spring. The Darwinian theory ex-
plains the gradual change caused by
changing environment. Slight changes
occur from generation to generation,
each change adapted to fit the off-
spring more perfectly that his parent
to meet the changing conditions, until
at length, the early ancestor resembles
the living species but remotely. But
there is another change, called muta-
tion, which is sudden and abrupt. Nor-
mal parents may bear a giant, or a
dwarf. A white violet may bear red
flowers.

Such changes may be caused by
changes in the germ plasma. The
causes of changes in the plasma may
be many. Three new ones may be
added to the list. X-rays, cosmic rays,
and exposure to extremely low temper-
atures all may cause a mutation.

LIFE'S DIVIDING LINE

T he bridge between living matter
and inanimate is passed. In the
lowest form of life there has always
been a sharp dividing line that set it
off from inanimate matter. The scien-
tist has always been able to say that
cellular matter which was able to re-
produce was live matter. While no
matter how greatly, complicated was
the molecular structure, inanimate
matter was that which had no faculty
to reproduce.

Live matter never had been crystal-
lized, nor has it had a molecular form-
ula. But Dr. W. M. Stanley has re-
leased his studies of the virus .which
causes disease and destruction to the
tobacco plant. Since it is self-propo-
gating, it is surely living matter. But
since it crystallizes and its molecular
structure can be clearly formulated, it
is surely inanimate. It is not too much
to predict that it will be made in the
laboratory from simple elements since
much more complicated chemicals
have been synthetised. This test tube
product will live and reproduce.
Simple life will be made by the chem-
ists.

DR. BLOWFLY!

r^HE maggot, which is commonly
know;n as the blowfly, infests and
breeds in wounds that have not had
proper attention. But very serious
wounds have healed more quickly

when inhabited by this unpleasant in-
sect life than when kept clean and an-
tiseptic. When faced with serious
wounds which would not yield to the
most expert medical treatment, physi-
cians, who had observed this phenome-
na on the battle fields of France, de-
liberately infected the wound with a
colony of maggots. Especially in the
treatment of serious bone injuries, they
got quick and excellent results.

In cases of osteomylitis, a bone
disease, the maggots cured cases that
neither medical nor surgical treatment
could help. About two years ago it
was shown that it was not the blowfly
itself but an excretion it produced
which effected the cure. The excre-
tion is known as allantoin. Today al-
lantoin has been synthetised in the
laboratory, and there is no further
need to employ the unpleasant look-
ing, but helpful, insect.

The CHESSBOARD
OF MARS

ProFessor Thode Combs the Entire Ether Spectrum in
Search oF the Elusive Psycho-wave — and Discovers
a World Saturated with Vibrations of Hate I

A Complete Novelette

By EANDO BINDER

Author of “’Judgment Sun,” “From Dawn to Dusk,” etc.

CHAPTER I

The Great Change

TUPENDOUS things have hap-
pened in this world, but nothing
as stupendous as the Great
Change that came over Earth iii 1938.

At first it was just a subtle change,
hardly noticeable. It was not a phys-
ical change. Continents did not sink,
nor did tidal waves engulf cities. Noth-
ing visible or tangible occurred at all.
Nevertheless, it was different.

Manifestations were numerous, yet
hard to define. First of all, a greedy

little nation dreaming the dreams that
Caesar and Napoleon had also once
dreamed, suddenly and inexplicably
withdrew her powerful navy from the
Hawaiian Islands, thus taking away
the threat of war between herself and
another gre:at power. At the same time
she demobilized from the Siberian
front, when it was expected that with-
in a month she would have swept into
the wheat fields of the north, robbing
them from ,a frantic European nation.
Not long after, these two enemies
signed an everlasting peace treaty.

That was the first major indication
of the Great Change. It was not long
after that the big powers of Europe, so
delicately balanced on the verge of a
disastrous war, demobilized from op-
posing frontiers, almost all at once.
And in another few months a dozen
short and honest treaties made war re-
mote and unthinkable. Before a decade
had passed, all Europ^ united to form
a commonwealth for the betterment of
all concerned — a union not in name
only, but in fact.

These astounding results in the in-

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

ternational field were matched by
equally amazing changes in the gen-
eral, everyday life of mankind. People
began to grow kinder toward one
another. A feeling of brotherhood
sprang up and waxed stronger day by
day. It is safe to say that a person
taken from the twentieth century prior
to July, 1938, and transported suddenly
to July of 1939, would swear he was
on some other world than that he had
known, because of the difference in
human relationship occasioned by the
Change. '

For instance, up in the hills of Ken-
tucky, two lanky, bearded, drawling-
tongued backwoodsmen, armed with
rifles, faced one another shyly and
finally shook hands. That was in Sep-
tember of 1938. A few months before
those two would have shot it out be-
tween them, for their feud went back
a hundred years. And so on and on.

It was as though the human race had
labored for countless centuries under
an incubus of evil, which had suddenly,
in July of 1938, been wrenched away
from Earth and flung into the nether-
most vc^ids of space.

T he two experimenters stood be-
fore a sprawling apparatus on the
workbench, whose various unorthodox
parts were connected with strands of
silvery-looking wire, but paler in color.
A modest fortune in beryllium, lay
there, and its many lines were to carry
a new type of energy — a leaping,
sizzling kind of energy that would have
burned copper to vapor, and would
have caused even silver to weaken and
soften. Some of the coils of beryllium
were immersed in vats of liquid air to
preserve them from a like fate.

A dialed panel reposed at the center
of the maze, with a series of button
switches and illumined indicators over
its surface. Hardly breathing, the two
men watched the meters as the profes-
sor slowly twisted one dial after
another. Up above, hung from the
ceiling, and connected to the panel by
a single wire, was a triangle of delicate
wiring, again beryllium.

It was the aerial for psycho-waves.
Suddenly there was sound, and the
two men stiffened attentively. Yet it

was not sound 1 Nothing came through
the air from the apparatus to their ears,
yet they seemed to hear voices ! Voices
that went directly to their brains, with-
out going through their auditory
organs..

They were simply thought-waves,
vastly amplified by the psycho-re- *
ceiver, and so powerful that they im-
pinged directly on the auditory seat of
the brain.

In awe and wonder they looked at
each other’s toil-lined faces as they
heard the cacophonous voices of a mil-
lion different people. They were
hopelessly entangled, like a radio re-
ceiver attuned to the entire wave-band
at once.

“The voice of the world !” whispered
Professor Thbde almost reverently.
“The constant flow of thought that
whirls about our heads and is never
heard except in a few instances. Every
human on Earth must always be think-
ing something, but the thoughts can
never be detected except by super-
sensitive minds, and then only under
exceptional circumstances — ^those care-
fully arranged experiments in telep-
athy. With this sort of receiver and
amplifier, one can be in touch with all
the world’s thoughts at once. Listen
now while I turn the selector dial.”
His face held a rapt expression.

The scientist twisted the dial and
clutched at his chest as a dry cough
bent him almost double. He would
have fallen except that Fred Bilte, his
assistant, caught him in strong arms
and helped him to a chair.

“Success, Fred! Success!” cried the
old scientist weakly when his coughing
had subsided.

That ecstasy of achievement had cost
them ten years of painstaking research,
and most of the professor’s fortune.
Ten years before, j Professor Boris
Thode, retired from the industrial
boom that had enriched him, had said :

“The mystery of thought ! How is it
born? How does it manifest itself?
Regardless of the - contempt that
science associates with telepathy, I
truly believe in it, and believe that
thought can be transmitted as readily
as voice, as light, as electricity, if only
we knew the means 1”

THE CHESSBOARD OF MARS

A t the time it had seemed to Fred
Bilte that they had completely
lost themselves in a maze of pseudo-
science. They pursued research that
was only half science, the other half
something beyond.

They had combed the entire ether
spectrum in the search for thought-
waves. Cosmic rays, gamma rays, X-
rays had been the first three steps.
Then had come the examination of sev-
eral octaves only slightly explored by
others. The ultra-violet, visible light,
and infra-red had been dissected for
their purpose. Another little known
gap in the scale next, and then the ra-
dio waves, and finally the alternating
current waves.

Each of these had been suspected in
turn of being the range of psycho-
waves, but "what they had sought had
not been found.

They had gone further. Above the
scale they explored waves that were
possibly the answer to the condensa-
tion of nebulae, but were not in any
w^ related to thought radiation.

Then, below the cosmic rays, they
came across radiations, half electro-
magnetic, half something else, that
were closely related to gravitation.
These had proved to be a sort of transi-
tion product between ether ema-
nations and waves that had no measur-
able velocity. Just as the Archaeop-
teryx was a transition between reptiles
and birds in prehistoric times.

The Z-rays, they were tentatively
named. They had a shorter wave-
length than the cosmic rays and a still
more terrific penetrative power. They
were apparently the next step above
the gravitation rays, which were un-
doubtedly infinitely penetrative. In
common with the latter, these Z-rays
had an almost infinite velocity in that
mysterious sub-ether beyond the elec-
tromagnetic ether.

It was only a year before that the
professor had said, eagerly, tensely;

“All electromagnetic waves have a
constant speed, something over 186,000
miles a second. These new Z-rays be-
low the cosmic, of a different order,
must have a far higher speed, possibly
beyond measurement. And the pene-
tration of thought, though figurative.

is proverbial ! Come on ! There’s
work ahead, and hope!”

A month after they had succeeded
in first absorbing thought-waves out of
the air, they had completed a pair of
miniature psycho-receivers modeled af-
ter the big set, with which they planned
to carry out tests of range and selec-
tivity. These were contained in small,
flat wooden cases that fitted easily into
their pocket. The energy supply was
a batterylike, tiny cylinder of cello-
phane containing delicate coils of gos-
samer beryllium.

“It is simple,” explained the profes-
sor at the doubt that was still in Bilte’s
face. “Suppose we are separated now
by a distance of a hundred miles. I
send my thoughts out. Your receiver
picks them up instantaneously and am-
plifies them — ”

“But what amplifies them?” insisted
Bilte.

“Your own thought emanations!”
the old scientist smiled. He was again
a jump ahead of his assistant. “Your
own psycho-waves, constantly contact-
ing the receiver-coils in your pocket, in-
duce a psycho-current which amplifies
the far weaker waves coming from me.
There is an analogy in radio transmis-
sion ; very weak stations are sometimes
caught up in the carrier wave of a pow-
erful station and are thereby greatly
amplified. The carrier wave of your
psycho-waves will similarly pick up
and strengthen my incoming emana-
tions.”

“But then I will be receiving both
sets of thoughts — ”

“Well, I hope,” grinned the profes-
sor, “that you can distinguish your own
thoughts from mine !”

Bilte grinned sheepishly in return.
“Then as long as these test receivers
are done, let’s try them Out.”

“All right. You have a sister in Los
Angeles, Fred, whom you haven’t vis-
ited for some time?” ^

“Not for three years.”

“Then take a trip down there, and
we’ll see if these psycho-phones, as we
may call them, will give us an un-
broken connection. Each hour during
the day, on the hour, we will connect
up and transmit to one another short
sentences of any kind, which each of

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

us will record in writing at both ends.
Then, on your return, we’ll compare
notes. Now pack up, and go, but be
back in two weeks.”

CHAPTER II

Mass Psychology

felMILTE returned from Los Angeles
M© July 1, 1938. That date meant
nothing in particular to the two ex-
perimenters, but to the world it was to
mean that three weeks later would
come the Great Change.

A comparison of notes indicated that
their connection had been complete and
perfect at all times. It struck a sort of
wonder in their minds to think ' that
two humans, separated by hundreds of
miles, could converse freely with but a
slight mental effort.

Radio was much the same, but re-
quired ponderous apparatus and much
attention. With the- psycho-phones,
communication was magically simple.

Professor Thode was elated at the
success in this first step to-ward applied
■telepathy, but Bilte noticed before he
had been back long that the elderly
scientist seemed pre-occupied. Even
while comparing notes and comment-
ing on the different phases of the ex-
periment, the professor’s lattention
wandered erratically.

“What is it professor?” asked Bilte
finally, pushing the written pages
aside.

Professor Thode started and then
motioned for them to go into the labo-
ratory. Striding to the set with which
they had first received outside thought
waves, he snapped the on-switch. He
made no motion to alter the tuning.

Suddenly it came, a loud\ “voice” —
yet it was not a- voice as those other
thought pickups had been. It seemed
to be more of an emotion that had
somehow been converted into a psycho-
wave. No actual word-thoughts were
distinguishable, yet the general mean-
ing of the message became clearer as
the amplified emanations continued to
radiate from the set.

Bilte looked in amazement at the

professor as he felt his heart pump
faster and his muscles unconsciously
tighten.

“Just what is it?” he asked, per-
plexed. “It isn’t really a definite mes-
sage. It seems more like a — an emo-
tion ! As if we had tuned in the inco-
herent thoughts of an enraged man!”

“Whatever it is,” murmured the pro-
fessor, “it comes in from at least a hun-
dred different psycho-wave-lengths,
like a chain station ! And there’s some-
thing ominous, threatening about it!”

They stared at each other silently
for a moment.

“Just what do you think it means?”
whispered Bilte. \

Withholding an answer, the profes-
sor pointed to the panel board. A fine
needle, delicately balanced on a sharp
agate pivot, reposed there in a hollow
formed by a group of beryllium coils.

“I’ve constructed a psycho-sensitive
unit,” explained the professor, “which
will point to the source of any psycho-
wave when connected to the big set.
Watch.”

As soon as the mysterious message
began again to emanate from the set,
the sensitized needle flicked back and
forth in wide g 5 rrations. When it grad-
ually subsided it pointed out of the
window across the blue of the Pacific.

“Which means,” said the old scien-
tist, “that the source of the radiation
lies somewhere out in the Pacific — or
across it, in Asia. With the power with
which it comes in, supposing it to be
at least a thousand miles away, the
source must be a greatly energized one.
Obviously, no single human mind could
produce such a powerful thought-
emanation without some sort of ampli-
fication.”

“You mean,” gasped Bilte, “that
someone else has — has accomplished
what we have and — ”

ROFESSOR THODE nodded re-
luctantly.

“Either that, or it may be the com-
bined mass radiation of a group of peo-
ple.” His eyes narrowed strangely.
“Mass psychology directed toward one
goal — almost mass hypnotism. This
psycho-message that we receive so
powerfully and bn so many different

THE CHESSBOARD OF MARS

77.

wave-lengths may be the fighting spirit
of a nation, feeding and constantly re-
newing itself on military propaganda!
You will notice that the needle pointed
directly west— directly toward Japan!”
Then he stirred himself at Bilte’s in-
credulous stare.

“Yes, far-fetched I know, Fred.
Either of the two possibilities has me
intrigued. I couldn’t rest without
knowing the true answer. Therefore,
we’ll track down the source of this
super-powerful psycho-radiation !”
Aboard an ocean liner speeding to-
ward Japan, the two experimenters be-
came daily more excited as the needle
never failed to point westward to the
land of flowers and sloe-eyed people.
It was a half day before docking that
they made a final test. They watched
the swinging needle come to a rigid
halt.

The professor uttered a surprised ex-
clamation and bent lower over the
needle.

“Good Lord ! It isn’t pointing to
Japan now, at least not to Japan proper.
It lines up — ” he hastily unfolded a
map of the Japanese archipelago —
“with the first of the Kurile Islands!”
He sat down weakly. “That then
precludes my theory.”

Bilte fidgeted uneasily.

“Well, if it isn’t the mass mind-de-
lusion of a great number of people, and
since it can’t be the emanation of one
single mind, it must be a mechanically
amplified psycho-radiation.” He shud-
dered a bit. “The nearer we draw to
the source, the more I feel a sort of in-
voluntary animosity — a dissatisfaction
with lots of things.”

Professor Thode nodded.

“I feel it too— rolling waves beating
at our subconscious minds, stirring our
fighting blood, just like fanfares of
martial music! Foreign correspondents
have mentioned that strange feeling of
restlessness and militarism, as though
all the nation were bathed in the fiery
breath of Mars, god of war; as in Cen-
tral Europe in 1913 and 1914. The
breath of Mars — ”

The professor’s voice suddenly
hardened.

“Suppose a Japanese scientist stum-
bled on psycho-phenomena in his re-

search, and progressed with it as far
or farther than we, to the point where
amplification of psycho-waves is pos-
sible. Suppose he decided to conceal
his discovery from the world, and in-
stead pervert it to evil use — to the pur-
pose of stirring his people to conquest !
That man could have set up to the
north where our needle points, a pow-
erful thought amplifier with which to
accomplish that purpose!”

“Very possible,” agreed Bilte gloom-
ily. “But how could he — this hypo-
thetical Machiavelli — control his ema-
nations so that only the Japanese peo-
ple were subject to their influence?”

“He wouldn’t have to control them.
The most direct and powerful of them
would saturate Japan and the east
coast of Asia, which is under Japanese
dominance anyway. To the north and
east and south, the radiations would go
a long way before impinging upon
large groups of other races. In fact, it
may be those tailings of the original
radiations that have so stirared Europe
today, and placed it on the brink of
another fearful internal war.” ^

It was perhaps at this point that the
two men began to realize that they had
stumbled onto things of major impor-
tance.

“Fred,” said the old scientist later, in
a low fiercq voice of determination, “re-
gardless of the consequences, you and I
areygoing to trace down this mysterious
psycho-emanation !”

CHAPTER III
The Sphere in Space

T hey landed in Tokyo and imme-
diately embarked again on a coastal
steamer for Nemuro, on the island of
Yeddo. Some seventy miles to the
northeast was the first of the Kurile
Islands, and the needle pointed rigidly
in its direction. There was two days’
delay at Nemuro before much argu-
ment and bribery convinced the Japa-
nese port officials that the two Amer-
ican tourists were not spies.

In calm, clear weather. Professor
Thode and his assistant, chaulfeiured by

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

a taciturn native, motored their way in
a launch to the island at which their
needle pointed like a damning finger of
accusation.

By judicious use of a compass and
their sense of direction, they were able
to determine, three hours later, that
they had reached the approximate point
where the needle’s line of extension in-
tersected the coast. They landed at a
stretch of weed-grown sandiness.
Standing on the shore, Bilte hesitated.

“We are absolutely unarmed, profes-
sor, and ,we don’t know what we are
walking into — ’’

But the old scientist had already set
the needle apparatus on the sand, an^
again closed the switch. The quiver-
ing needle swung in a lightning quarter
circle and fastened ri^dly to the north-
west, without the least hesitant swing-
ing back and forth as formerly.

, The two men looked at each other
significantly.

^Tt must be very close!’’ whispered
Bilte hoarsely.

Professor Thode was already making
his way toward a fringe of gnarled
bushy growths further down the shore,
beyond which nothing could be dis-
tinguished. Almost like a robot he
strode along, and Bilte felt it would be
better to check him before he ran into
something unexpected. But as he was
about to call, he saw from the corner of
his eye that the pilot was tugging at
the launch to shove off. To the un-
knowing pilot, the place seemed be-
witched with ghostlike voices.

With a shout Bilte turned back, and
pulled him away before he could get
the nose of the launch off the sand.
And when Bilte next turned around,
the professor was nowhere in sight!

He stood a moment, undecided. Then
he heaved at the launch with all his
strength, pulling it as far up on the
sand as he could. Thereupon, he left
the beach, reasonably certain that the
pilot, with his slighter strength, could
not drag the launch clear by himself.
At a trot, then, he made for the thickets
and snapped on his pocket psycho-
phone while he ran, hoping to contact
the professor in that way. But it was
a useless hope, as the' very strength of
the projector’s emanations was suffi-

cient to drown out any lesser psycho-
waves. ,

Reaching the thickets, Bilte crashed
through the bushy growths, unmindful
of clinging tendrils and barbs that
scratched his skin. Soon he came out
upon clear land that sloped gently up-
^ward for a hundred feet, and then
abruptly veered off into a large depres-
sion, i The professor was still nowhere
to be seen, and a worried frown came
to Bilte’s forehead.

He ran forward toward the closer
edge of the large depression ahead.
When he had struggled up the short
slope, the whole of the little valley sud-
denly swung into his line of vision, and
he stopped frozen dumbfounded in ut-
ter amazement.

A t the exact center of the huge de-
pression was an apparatus whose
top did not rise above the general
ground level. Set on a wide spreading
tripod, it consisted of nothing more
than a colossal metal globe whose one
surface — that facing southwest toward
Japan — was punctured by a flanged
aperture, as though from it something
was meant to pour.

Evidently that was the “projector”
that he and the professor had suspected
to exist on the island. But the other
thing his eyes saw he was not to un-
derstand until later.

Back of the projector was another
spherical globe of metal, but this did
not seem to be a permanent part of the
apparatus, since it was suspended off
the ground a few feet. That in itself
was astoimding — a large spheroid of
metal hanging in the air like a feather !

At the same time that Blite saw the
projector and the suspended globe, he
saw the professor, and a hoarse, choked
cry burst from his throat. He had no
time to shout again, or to rush to his
assistance. The suspended spheroid
quite suddenly leaped through the air,
right over the cringing professor, who
had evidently been examining the pro-
jector.

A hole yawned in its under-surface,
and — Bilte gasped in disbelief — the
professor, without any voluntary mo-
tion on his part, arose and catapulted
into the, hole, as though an invisible

THE CHESSBOARD OF MARS

gignt’s hand had yanked him off the
grdund.

Then the hole in the spheroid closed,
and without a sound the amazing ob-
ject levitated itself away from -Ae
ground, and gradually disappeared into
the blue sky.

Bilte crouched at the depression’s
edge for a full minute, unable to collect
his scattered senses. Then he staggered
in a daze back to the stretch of t^ach.
Scratched and bleeding, enervated by
the shock of what he had seen, Bilte
hardly noticed at first that the pilot was
frantically tugging at the launch, and
had almost succeeded in shoving it
clear. Bilte broke into a stumbling
run, shouting madly, and arrived just
in time to climb into the boat with the
pilot.

Hours later, Bilte awoke from a
mental lethargy to notice the quays and
docks of Nemuro rapidly approaching.
Utterly deflated in spirit, he went di-
rectly to his dingy hotel room. All
that afternoon and evening he paced to
and fro, trying to think coherently.
What had the spherical vessel been?
Where was the professor now? What
was to be his fate? What should he,
Fred Bilte, do now? What could he
do!

That same evening, dinnerless and
sleepless, Bilte began to think he was
going mad. He imagined he was hear-
ing the professor calling his name.
More than once he half turned, ready
to swear the professor must be there.
Suddenly he gasped, and with trem-
bling fingers pulled out his pocket
psycho-phone, cursing himself aloud
for having completely forgotten that
he had neglected such a direct means
of communication.

S MMEDIATELY, at. the snap of the
switch, the professor’s psycho-
voice reverberated in Bilte’s mind, call-
ing his name over and over.

“Professor I’’ half shouted Bilte.
“Fred ! Thank God you’ve finally
closed our contact. I’ve been trying
to connect with you for hours.”
“Professor, are you safe? Where
are you? What — ”

“Fred, stop! Listen to me. There
is no time to lose. 1 can’t tell you

much, because I haven’t found out
much. But you’ve got to get away
from Japan and back to the States —
back to our laboratory. I’ve been
locked into a little room in this ship
without seeing anybody, but I know it
has been moving all the time, its speed
constantly accelerating, and must be
going somewhere. That somewhere
must be the hideout or headquarters of
these people who have made the pro-
jector. The one thing in our favor is
that apparently they didn’t know you
were with me on that island. That
means I can relay what I learn to you.

“But it will take the big set, back
home, to do that if this ship goes much
further. I will begin contacting you
a^ain in five days, whether or not you
give me a return call. If I’m out of
range of your psycho-phone, I will have
no way of knowing whether you are lis-
tening or not, but it’s all we can do.
Oh, if only our big set could transmit
as well as receive 1 Anyway, I’m going
to see the finish of this and pass what
I find out along to you. Now get out of
Japan and hurry 1”

Perhaps the two servants in Profes-
sor Thode’s laboratory-home were sur-
prised at Bilte’s orders when he re-
turned froi& their foreign trip. A
couch was installed in the experiment
room beside the big psycho-receiver,
and meals were to be brought in regu-
larly. He was to be left strictly alone
at all times, and they were not to worry
about Professor Thode — he had gone
to China and would be back some time
in the future.

CHAPTER IV
The Voice from the Ether

I T was during the evening of July
17, 1938, that Professor Thode’s
psycho-voice first came over the big
set. /

“Fred, are you listening?” it began.
“God! How useless for me to ask a
question whose answer I may never
know! I have just found out several
things, one of which makes ^ impos-
sible for you ever to contact me with

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

the psycho-phone.

“Fred ! I told you the ship was accel-
erating. That puzzled me, and prob-
ably you too. Only one type of ship
would do that — a space ship. Well, I’m
on a space ship !’’ ^

Bilte bit his tongue. Drops of blood
fell unnoticed from his lips.

The psycho-voice went on:

“Yes, Fred, I’m on a space ship. Just
an hour ago, the door of my prison
opened and before me stood a creature
— well, a creature. I will not attempt
to describe him. You can believe me
that I was thoroughly frightened and
thought I was mad, especially when
the creature spoke to me — in English
— and addressed me as ‘Earthman.’ To
make it short, he informed me that I
was aboard a space ship bound for the
planet Mars, and that he was a Mar-
tian. My skepticism must have shown
itself in my face, for the creature then
took me by the hand and led me up
corridors and passageways in this
amazing vessel and finally brought me
before a window.

“And there it was — E^rth, a green-
grey ball hanging in space!

“You can’t imagine the shock of it,
Fred, nor the wonder and glory of it —
seeing the heavens from a space ship.
The amazing blackness" of space, the
steely stars, the impression of tre-
mendous depth, the shuddering awe of
its immensity. And then Earth — ^but
a ball, a mote, hanging in the nothing-
ness, its surface indistinct with a gauzy
halo over it. ,

“I wonder how long I just stood
there and stared! Finally I turned tp
my guide. He seemed amused by my
awe.

“ ‘Earthman,’ he said, , ‘does your
mind reel at these things? I see it does.
Naturally it would. I forget that the
undeveloped intelligence of Earth has
thought of space travel as remote' and
in the main improbable, if not actually
impossible.’

“ ‘Sir,’ I said, not knowing how else
to address him, ‘This is like a miracle !’

“The creature — or Martian, as I
should say — ^laughed insolently and
Fred, from that moment on I hated
him ! It would be hard to explain why.
Perhaps if his acid laugh, and the pe-

culiar tones of his voice rang in ypur
ears, you too would promptly hate him
— this creature. His whole demeanor
was condescending and arrogant ; oh^
ten times more arrogant and contemp-
tuous than the most conceited ruler of
Rome could ever have been. He made
me feel, during those few minutes we
were together, that I was a crawling
worm that had to get out of his path
before being stepped upon.

“I am back in my little room— my
prison — now. They have been feeding
me regularly, a liquid food, very sweet
but satisfying. The room I’m in has a
higher air pressure than outside, and
seems to be equipped especially for an
Earthman. I wonder what that
means?

“Of course, a thousand and one other
speculations have been torturing me.
What was this Martian, and his com-
panions, doing on Earth? What is
their connection with the projection of
thei psycho- wave that is inundating
Japan with its insidious influence?
Why am I being taken to Mars?

“God! At times I feel I have gone
mad, or that this is a horrible night-
mare. And yet this seems to be real —
Fred, tell me, am I — ”

HE incoming jisycho-voice jum-
bled for a moment. Bilte crushed
his knuckles against the hard bench
top till the skin cracked. Then again
camei from the void :

“I shall have to remember T am a
scientist, Fred, and as such , must
keep my wits. I’ve figured that I have
been aboard now over six Earth days,
and we can’t be more than halfway, if
that. I suppose you have already add-
ed a hexa-bank amplifier to the set.
Probably you’ll have to add another to
be able to catch my waves when and
if I arrive on Mars. Thank heaven psy-
cho-waves have such a great penetrat-
ing power and — oh!”

Bilte started and turned paler at the
agonized gasp that registered from the
professor. Then his voice again,
broken :

“Accelerating — tremendously — tons
of weight — ’’

That was all and Bilte staggered to
a chair, mopping a feverish brow. For

THE CHESSBOARD OF MARS

twenty-four hours there was utter
silence from the psycho-ether tuned to
Professor Thode’s wave-length, and
Bilte grew haggard in anxiety. In the
early morning of July 19th, the sus-
pense ended. Thereafter the professor
radiated messages three separate times
— a lost soul crying from a spatial
-wilderness. Only Fred Bilte was ever
to know the full details of Professor
Thode’s three messages from the
planet Mars.

July 19, 2 A. M.

The ship has landed on Mars, Fred.
When I last contacted you a full day
ago, our connection was broken when I
was hurled against the wall by a ter-
rific surge of the ship. Soon after I
lost consciousness, and when I next
opened my eyes, I could see through a
window that we were no longer in
space, but on a solid surface. In short,
on Mars !

If I could somehow transmit to you
psycho-television, perhaps you might
then gain some idea of this Martian
city that spreads before me. Imagine
spires and towers a mile high ; bulbous
dwelling places suspended at any and
all heights ; majestic edifices that could
house a hundred of Earth’s ocean lin-
ers ; columnar decorations glinting
with inlaid jewels and burnished met-
als — all intertwined and connected
with conduits and tunnels and such.

This is a city of Mars I’m in, Fred,
and the only city!

I’ve found out many things. The du-
ration of intelligent life on Mars goes
back to a half million years ago. It was
that long ago that the Martians had al-
ready invented speech and writing and
the first beginnings of science. Their
early history— when Earth was but a
primeval jungle— is curiously parallel
to our recorded history: a series of
wars, famines, pestilences, revolutions,
and mass migrations. They had seas
then and continents and islands, just
as on Earth.

It was a hundred thousand years
after their first written records that
spatial navigation became possible to
their science, and the -Martians
swarmed all over the Solar System.
No life was found on any of the outer
planets, nor on their satellites, by rea-

son of their remoteness from the life-
giving sun. Mercury supported a
hardy silicic form of unintelligent life.
Venus and Earth were steamy pots of
struggling evolutionary forms of life,
and man was yet unborn on our world.

Thus the Martians were sole rulers
and masters of the Solar System, For
the next hundred thousand years the
most precious and useful products of
all the different planets were brought
to Mars to further and make great
Martian civilization.

UT the next hundred thousand
year period was a period of
breaking down rather than building up.
With the immense strides of their
science, deadly and horrible weapons of
destruction were developed, and' the
various classes and races fell on one
another and waged war. These peri-
odic wars gradually became more and
more catastrophic and disastrous, and
the once teeming and thriving popula-
tion dwindled.

It is hard to believe, but my Martian
mentor — his name is Sokon — intimated
that for a long time the sole ambition,
thought, and endeavor of all Mars was
warfare and military dominion. First
one race and then another gained as-
cendancy in endless cycles that might
have gone on forever.

Truly, Fred, from what I’ve learned,
this planet was rightfully, even if acci-
dentally, named after the god of war —
Mars ! .

But it could not go on indefinitely,
because of the rapidity with which the
population dwindled. About fifty thou-
sand years ago all the planet lay
wasted and war-torn and its denizens
numbered but a few millions, scattered
all over the planet in little, proud, iso-
lated communities, each a deadly en-
emy of the other.

You can surmise, that while the long
series of wars went on, scientific ad-
vancement was hampered and the
peaceful trades fell almost to nothing.
I am beginning to think, Fred, that
warfare on Earth is a small thing com-
pared to what it must be in such an
advanced, superscientific world.

But just when it seemed that their
civilization was doomed to suicide —

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

the few millions left would not feed
their weapons more than another cen-'
tury — a salvation came to them.

That, Ered, is all I know of the story
of Mars. For some strange — and I fear
awful — reason, my mentor would tell
me no more on the subject; How the
unity of the warlike Martians was
achieved I shall tell you when I find
out.

Someone is coming into my room
now, Fred! Goodby! You’ll hear from
me — if Providence wills it — as soon as
I can manage, it in secrecy, as I fear to
transmit in the presence of Sokon.

July 20, 4 A. M.

I have finally got the chance to
transmit to you again, Fred, but you
will never know what torture I went
through for a while before I could
bring myself to contact you again. Per-
haps it would be better that you should
never hear this that I have learned in
the past day here on Mars.

But I have made the decision to tell
you all, Fred, and if it plunges your
mind into a fog such as mine, God for-
give me for the act !

Some hours ago Sokon took me to
the roof of this giant building and into
an airship. In this vehicle we darted
over the immense mazes of this city to
its outskirts. There the ship lowered
to what must be the largest building on
Mars. I estimate it at a mile square,
yet it is not high.

Not a word did Sokon speak all this
time. But after landing on the roof of
this Cyclopean structure, he faced me
with a strange and dreadful smile.

“Earthman,” he said with a wicked
sort of gloat in his voice, “now you
shall find the answers to all your ques-
tions. Look around’’ — he waved an
arm to include the conglomeration of
strange apparatuses spread all over the
roof near the landing field — “and know
that from here is controlled the super-
ficial destiny of Earth!”

® F Earth! Of Earth!

The searing thought rocketed
through my brain and made me weak.
What could he mean? I was soon to
know.

The apparatus, I might .explain,
seemed to my. wavering mind a hope-

less maze of geared machinery all cov-
ered with some transparent protective
material, from which protruded hun-
dreds of long, thin spouts, or nozzles.
Meaningless for the moment, but later
they came to have a frightful signifi-
cance.

Sokon then took me down an eleva-
tor, down into the 'building itself. I
wish I could picture for you the scene
that met my unbelieving eyes as the
elevator door opened and I was led out
upon a balcony from which could be
viewed the entire interior, which was
one immense room.

All around nie was the gigantic
columned interior. Evenly spaced
across the floor were hundreds of rows
of apparatuses something like organ
consoles, in each of which sat a Mar-
tian.

Close scrutiny of one of the affairs
just..,below me revealed it as a circular
button board in the center of which sat
the operator. As I watched, his long
arm with its sensitive fingers flicked
buttons with marvelous rapidity, caus-
ing little pilot lights to flash. About
his head was a maze of wires and tubes
connected to the control board by sev-
eral strands of heavy wire.

But what use to describe to you
something whose immensity and alien-
quality you could never grasp, except
that it relieves my fevered mind to tell
of these common details. I will go on,
as Sokon went on when I had recov-
ered from astonishment and wonder.

Sokon returned to the previous day’s
talk and picked up the thread of the
story he had'left unfinished. The Mar-
tians, faced with self-inflicted extinc-
tion, decided at last that it was foolish
to fight among themselves when they
could satiate their battle lust in a way
not at all harmful to their ' persons.
Earth had been explored) and on its
surface had been found a form of life
with rational intelligence, inhabiting
forests and caves — the Paleolithic
Man.

A diabolical plan was conceived, and
with a hue and a cry the Martians
adopted it in boundless enthusiasm.

With their marvelous science, and
their full and complete understanding
of psycho-phenomena, they built psy-

THE CHESSBOARD OF MARS

cho- transmitters capable of projecting
psycho-beams all the way to Earth,
which would give the Martians prac-
tical control of the activity of mankind
on the young world !

CHAPTER V
The Chessboard of Mars

H CAN see you now, Fred, trembling
and pale, not daring to believe.
And yet, it is God’s truth !

These control boards, at each of
which sits a Martian like a gloating
tyrant, are psycho-transmitters which
project to Earth, at the will of the
operator, any sort of psycho-emotion
or actual direct thought. You will
understand that the Martians have re-
fined and improved their apparatus be-
yond our understanding, so that they
can either fasten like a leech to one cer-
tain mind of Earth, or to a group, or
to a whole nation, and pour their in-
sidious psycho-emotions forth like' a
foul wave of slime.

And the sole purpose and aim of each
Martian is to wreak as much bloodshed
and harm as he can on Earth !

So all through the ages, while abo-
riginal man gradually arose from igno-
rance and darkness to the glimmerings
of intelligence, the Martians have been
holding mankind back, instigating
wars, tribal battles, personal fights, and
internecine revolutions, satisfying their
bloodthirsty, warlike natures in play-
ing warlord to Earth ! Like an evil en-
tity in the heavens, the Martians have
been strewing the pages of Earth his-
tory with blood and gore and hatred
and discontent.

It has always been the wonder and
surprise of most intelligent people of
our time, Fred, why mankind had wars
at all, why there was constant bicker-
ing and battling when things could be
settled so easily in more peaceful ways.
“The beast in us” it was called, but ac-
tually it was the beast being put into
us ! And God only knows how far
ahead the world might be on the road
to true civilization if it weren’t in the
fatal, bloody grip of Mars.

All through the ages, then, our super-
ficial destiny has been guided from
Mars by beings who, not willing to bat-
tle themselves, have instead caused
battles and bloodshed on another
world. Sokon tediously traced Earth
history for me, with which, naturally,
all Martians are smugly familiar, and
showed me all the innumerable inci-
dents which we thought to be the
course of fate and which were really
the results of the Martians’ psycho-
waves — a. vicarious means of satiating
their lust for battle.

Just to give a few instances. Alex-
ander the Great, world conquerer, was
started on his bloody career by a Mar-
tian psycho-beam that from babyhood
on stirred his fighting and ruling
nature. The psycho-emotion goaded
him and tormented him till he had to
obey its call, and partly under its guid-
ance, and partly due to the conditions
under which he lived, he swept . out
from Macedonia and poured blood on
dozens of battlefields. Alexander’s
whole army was constantly under the
influence of a psycho-beam from Mars
which made them so vicious and fight-
ing mad that they swept all before
them, includfng the Persian hosts of
Darius.

Then Attila the Hun. His invasions
were first conceived in a Martian brain
and then forced on him so that he be-
came one of the bloodiest and most
vicious scourges in Earth’s histofy.
His little slant-eyed troops were bath^
in a psycho-beam so powerful that
some of the worst atrocities of all time
were the result.

P”I|^HEN Napoleon, the little corporal
J4L who as a youth dreamed of a great
France. His dreams were not his own
— they came hurtling across millions of
miles of space and were implanted in
his sensitive and keen mind. He arose,
lashed by the hammering psycho-
beams, and swept all Europe, wallow-
ing in blood, sacrificing human lives in
absolute indifference. Yet it was not
Napoleon himself who cared so little
for human life and suffering. It was
the Martian across space who chuckled
in glee when vast armies swept to-
gether and decimated one another.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

Then, in the modern world that we
know — the fearful carnage of the
World War when mankind had ad-
vanced enough scientifically to produce
terrible weapons that reminded the
Martians of their own disbarred ones.
In telling of this last Earth war, let me
mention again the building and its
psycho-controlboards.

The boards are divided among all the
different nations that were formerly
represented on Mars before their union.
Each group, still, as proud and hateful
as of yore when they battled with guns
instead of psycho-waves, concentrates
itself on. a certain warlike project on
Earth. For instance, for the World
War, the Martians decided to make it
a grand and glorious game between
two and only two sides.

Accordingly, half the boards were
then relegated to control the Allies, and
the other half the Central Powers.

I will never be able to erase from my
mind, Fred, the unutterable look of evil
glee on Sokon’s face as he told me that
never in all their fifty thousand years
of playing bad the Martians had so
much “fun” as during the World War!
It had been a grand game and had^.oc-
casioned intense rivalry, and they had
been sorry when it had finally ended!

Think of it, Fred! All Earth, every
section and corner of it, constantly
under the evil influence which darts
from Mars at instantaneous velocity
and submerges it in psycho-waves
which have as much to do with the des-
tiny of Earth’s peoples as their own
hampered efforts to rise above brutal-
ity and bloodshed and suffering!

The chief occupation of the Martians
in the past ages of their civilization had
been warfare. Now their chief occupa-
tion is playing on this gigantic chess-
board of Mars, moving humans in
paths of fate like the chess player
moves his pawns and pieces !-

And, Fred, the Martians had so much
enjoyment out of the last World War,
that they have again decided to play
such a two-sided game. Japan is to be
the nucleus of one warrior group, and
Russia the nucleus of the other. They
plan, so Sokon tells me, to draw into
this war all the nations of Earth in a
grand melee which they intend to make

a dozen times more horrible than the
last holocaust!

Furthermore, Sokon informed me
that the projector set up on that Kurile
island, which we first thought to be the
work of an Earth madman, is part of a
secret plot of his to beat the other side.
One of the “rules” of the game is that
neither side shall set up concentration
projectors on Earth itself, as this
would give too much of an advantage
to incite Earth all at once and destroy
it completely. Sokon and several of
his arch-plotters secretly went to Earth
a year ago and set up the projector.
This will incite the Japanese much
faster than the enemy and cause them
to arm more quickly and fight more vi-
ciously.

T his reveals to me the true deca-
dence and evil of the Martian na-
ture in general. Whatever was the
initial cause, the Martians grew up
with a far greater heritage of warlike-
ness than — I am sure— ever reposed in
Earth-people’s basically gentle natures.

God, Fred ! Hovv long will my mind
remain coherent when every second
the thought beats a frenzied rhythm of
hopelessness that Earth will never be
free of the bloody Martian clutch till
some far distant future when the two
worlds may battle for supremacy.

If only there is something I could
do ! If only there is some way I could
destroy them!

Good-by, Fred ! Perhaps good-by for
good. Sokon is waiting for my reeling
mind to break down; He does this now
and then with Earthmen, delighting to
watch them fall to pieces when know-
ing the truth. If there is anything
more I might want to transmit, wait
for me a full Earth day. If I do not
call by then, you will know that I am
dead.

In a silence that seemed to ^ho with
the Satanic leers of other-world demons,
Fred Bilte moved about the laboratory
with a sort of aimless purpose. He rum-
maged in the cabinet, taking from it
papers covered with scrawled formulae.
Hours later he took the sizeable batch
he had collected and burned them
wholesale on the tile floor, opening a
window to let the acrid smoke out. He

THE CHESSBOARD OF MARS

stared until the last flame went out.
The secret of psycho-detection would
not leave the laboratory.

Then he went to his couch. His eyes
glinting with a bleakness like that of
frigid space itself, he stretched himself
out stiffly. His face was like a graven
wax mask. He waited, not caring to
sleep. He refused entrance to the man-
servant with a tray of food, and in the
early hours of July 21st the professor’s
voice came again:

Fred! Fred! Are you there? Pray
God you are. He had not tortured me
enough, Sokon, so he again dragged me
to the chessboard of human life not
many hours after the first time, and
went into vivid detail more horrible
than I dare to relate to you, Fred.

Suddenly an enormous thought
struck me. A mad thought. Yet it
may have been a sublime thought. I
will soon know.

Sokon, whom I will curse in my dy-
ing breath above all other Martians as
the master fiend of them all, took me
into the section whose psycho-boards
are on the enemy side — Russia’s side,
you know, in this titanic Earth war
they are instigating. One of that side’s
members threw a taunt to Sokon, which
he returned with interest. The taunt-
ing grew and became a quarrel between
the two Martians.

I merely stood by, seeing a plain ex-
ample before my eyes of how warlike
and hot-headed Martians are when even
in their game they will come to blows.

It was then the thought struck me.
I obeyed my sudden inclination to
carry it through and dashed away from
the two bickering Martians, and ran
further into the section whose mem-
bers are opposed to Sokon in the war
game they are playing

a BETRAYED Sokon at the top of
my voice and told his opponents of
the illegal projector which had been set
up on Earth. Head after head stirred
from the boards and jerked up. Doz-
ens of pairs of eyes within range of my
voice heard and grew wrathful.

Then Sokon came bearing down on
me, having heard a little and surmised
the rest. He fastened his baleful,
speckled eyes on me, and my voice died

in my throat. I made a brief prayer
and waited for death.

But it did not come! No, it did not
come, Fred!

I opened my eyes a moment later to
find a dozen Martians, all enemies to
Sokon, protecting me -from him. Fur-
thermore, they were demanding some-
thing from him and I could easily
guess what.

I know little or nothing of just what
was done then. I was led by the hand
to a little cupola of transparent mate-
rial which overhangs the entire interior
of the building. In it are strange in-
struments that I can guess are deadly
weapons. This cupola, I surmise, is a
sort of policing center to insure peace
in the assembly. The guns are on piv-
ots and can rake any part of the build-
ing.

I am here in that cupola above the
chessboards now, Fred. I have not been
fed for several hours. My throat is
parched and dry. I am numb from
mental agony. Yet a faint spark of
hope has been bom within me. Not
hope for myself, no. What does my

single lif ,.can ? But hope for Earth !

Perhaps the investigation will result in
removal of the projector on Earth.

That there is an investigation in
progress, I know. One of the fellows
up here in the cupola — there are doz-
ens of them, equally divided in alle-
giance — casually told me that as soon
as the right part of Earth’s surface
turns in the direction of Mars, their
powerful telescopes will examine the
Kurile Islands for that outlawed pro-
jector. I asked what would be the re-
sult when it was found. He made a
shrugging gesture, but I noticed that
his hand unconsciously caressed the
gun near him.

There is nothing more to say, Fred,
except that there is unrest in the very
atmosphere around here. I can almost
feel the hatred and suspicion welling
up between the two sides. What the
outcome of my action in betraying So-
kon will be, I don’t know. But almost
all my suffering at that devil’s hands is
repaid at the thought that at least I’ve
put him in a troublesome predicament.

The voice ceased. Later it burst forth
again, trembling with excitement :

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

A message, Fred! A message cor-
roborating my story — the telescopes
saw the projector! Also they saw
something more — a space ship landing
beside it and blowing it to drifting
dust. Sokon had sent a space ship post
haste to Earth to destroy the incrim-
inating evidence of his treachery, but
too late !

I hardly know what to say about
things here now. Excitement is run-
ning high. Many Martians have left
their boards and are gathering in little
groups. There is much shouting back
and forth. The very air is electrified
with wrath and hatred. Sokon is down
there conferring with his henchmen.
His opponents are glaring angrily in
his direction, for he has been a leader
of the other side.

T he fellows up in this gun-cage are
very nervous and fidgety. They
have in their hands the power, prob-
ably to wipe out all below them. The
sympathizers of Sokon in the cupola
are sitting at their guns. The others
are watching the scene below. They
should be —

Something’s beginning now !

A group from Sokon’s, opposition is
running at him, shouting. Sokon faces
about in fear — it is the beginning of a
mob riot ! They near him . sev-

' eral Martians tumble in the rush . .
God! . . . Sokon gunners just shot
down a livid bolt of something that
whiffed a dozen' Martians to dust!
Now the opposing gunners retaliate
with a bolt to the other side!

It is a battle royal now !

Without restraint the gunners are

shooting down rioting Martians!
Hundreds have been converted to
puffs of vapor. Good! Good! This in
a small measure repays Earth for the
sacrifice of her murdered people. This
thing is getting bigger and bigger
perhaps it will become . .

Yes! Part of the roof has been dis-
integrated. At its edges appear Mar-
tians from the city with weapons that
they rapidly install like machine-guns
. the disintegrating bolts are be-
coming thick . . . the battling and
rioting is turning into an actual war. I
can see centuries of repression swell-
ing into a terrific bloodlust.

I see a giant airship . . it hovers
above the roof the roof puffs

away . a searing ray springs from
the ship . it is sweeping in circles
and in its path nothing remains .
death for the Martians my heart
sings !

The gunners here are busy wiping
out their fellowmen in absolute war-
madness. It is awful, that look in their
eyes! Now is my chance. I am
stealing over to the giant chessboard
psycho-transmitter. A few twists of
several different levers, and I am ready
to start.

I’m wiping out the entire bloody
planet, Fred . . I’m concentrating on
the thought that every Martian kill his
neighbor, kill himself Never be-

fore have the psycho-waves been used
at such short range The psycho-
transmitter is now focused to envelop
all Mars with its waves of hate . . .
I’m not leaving this machine until I
have destroyed every Martian, one by
one

WHAT IS YOUR SCIENCE KNOWLEDGE?

Test Yourself by This Questionnaire

1 — How many electrons are there in a potassium atom?

2 — What is Polyphemus, in the astronomical sense?

3 — What is the lightest element?

A — What is the Douglas-Hunt process of precipitation?

5 — Name five different rays known to science.

6— Will a perfect vacuum carry an electrical discharge?

7 — What insect can travel better than eight hundred miles an hour?

8 — What is chlorophyl, and how is it used 'by plants?

9 — How do single-celled organisms multiply?

(A Guide to the Answers Will Be Found on Page 121)

’(Ni@TiHS(R'

T(HI& SfiilRTf^l

7 T..

t^/VABe.£ TO W/THSTAf^O TH£ SUPER-
POCt^EPPUC THRl/ST OF THE ONCOF)/HG ELACteRS
/^AHHIHOS GREPCr SHYZCRAPERS WOULD
^^f^ORE THE /RRES IST/BLE

f-fRei-y that not on£
f^^ORt-O'S TWENTY-FtVE ORERTEST
C/T/ES WOULD •SURVfUE THIS HOLOCAUST/

■ Smarms of humanitt
MOULD migrate, in giant
ROCKET FLEETS TO tUSTANT
PLANETS /N ORDER TO
escape the ice doom.'

IN THE NORTHERN HEMISPHERE
^SCIENCE WOULD MAKE A LAST
STAND FtGAINST THE CRUSHING
MOUNTAINS OF ICE. TREMENDOUS
POWER STATIONS, EACH EMAN-
ATING INFRA-RED RAYS OP HEAT,
WOULD attempt TO MELT THE
TOWERING ICE WALL/

HUGE RLOAT/NS CITIES LIRE
ARMS, POWERED BY ATOMIC
ENERGY, WOULD CRUISE THE
UNpROXSN OCEANS. WAITING
FOR THE GLACIEPS TO RECEDE /

/N DESPERATION MANRIND'-'-
WOULD RESORT TO SUB- ■

; 'VRRANeAN habitations.

, THIS WOULD PROBABLY BE.- :'.R
The safest and most
PRACTICABLE retreat.':.

RENEGADE

l. TT"

The Ways of the Ether
are Strange When a
Spaceman Seeks
to Betray

By J. HARVEY
HAGGARD

Author of “Faster Than Light,”
"Human Machines,” etc.

? SPACE
'i SUITS

Tiant struck past the open visor

T he lower corridors of the V.
S. Pelledaria were empty. El-
lord Tr^jit became aware of this
fact by cautiously peering down the
rampway from the low-deck quarters,
and he chuckled to himself. He had
just heard the chief purser muttering
perplexedly:

“I can’t understand it, at all. We
came down over the trap-doors of the
Arachnidas here on the 42XY Plane-
toid, and our Y-beams failed. They’ve
built a barrier down there, from a
knowledge of our weapons that could
only have leaked from our own ranks,
but I hate to think of a terrestrial as a
— a renegade.” '

Renegade ! What would the purser
have thought if he could have known
that his assistant, Ellord Trant, was
the renegade of whom he had spoken !

For four Earth hours the V. S. Pel-
ledaria had rested on that invisible
barrier, a bare two hundred feet above
the rocky asteroid. Men dared not
go down on the barren surface, where
trap-doors would swing up from the
seemingly unbroken expanse, leaving
them helpless before the barbarous,
chitin-garbed Arachnidas, whose
nightmare fighting fangs and talons
would tear into the flesh of defense-
less Earthmen whose ray dissemblers
had been rendered useless.

Renegade ! But they could not

know of those Core Dwellers within

the asteroid, whom the Arachnids
warriors served, or of the amaranth
eyes of Her, fairest of the Core Dwel-
lers. Ellord Trant chuckled again as
he thouglit of her, and scanned the
low-deck. He would not go unre-
warded if this merchant vessel of il
space was delivered as a prize to the
Core Dwellers, as others had been in,
similar coups. That message over the
ether-phones to his captain had seemed
simple enough, an emergency call
from desperate captives on a satellite
world. There was no possibility that
anyone would suspect a trap.

Those bubble-capped trap nests of
the natives had retained all of the
appearance of innocence, until the
first barrage from ambush had melted
the outer gravity sheaths vyhite hot,
and then ran dripping down the hull.
From that moment the V. S. Pelle-
daria had rested on an invisible bar-
rier, unable to loose the pent-up ener-
gies that sought to drive downward
at the rugged surface.

From where Trant stood, he could
see disc spaceports, beyond whose
transparency were auras of noxious
purple, a protonic emanation that
clung to the scarred hull of the old
space-dog ship like a battered armor.
Occasionally he saw brilliant crimson
flashes as the rays flashed upward
from the entrenched warriors . of
Planetoid 42XY.

RENEGADE

E was in luck. Perhaps it wasn’t
so strange that the low-deck
was empty. Up in the midmain, the
gunners were manning the Y-beams
that circled the V. S. Pelledaria’s hull,
hoping against hope that the barrier
would vanish and the destructive
energies be loosed again. There were
no men to spare.

Ellord Trant made his way to the
ispace toggings compartment, and
suddenly cursed. It was locked se-
curely. A metallic footfall obtruded
in the quiet, ringing from the ramp-
way. He looked up then, for another
figure was coming down, and his eyes
narrowed as he saw that the newcomer
was clad in space-suiting. Now the
other was so close that he could feel
the vibration of heavily shod feet
clumping on the berylumin floor.

“Ellord Trant! What are — ” came
startled, questioning words from the
helmet.

“Curtiss !’’ He saw quick suspicion
twinge across bland, whitened fea-
tures. The words stopped then, for
Trant’s clenched fist had ripped across
the intervening space. Curtiss seemed
paralyzed with surprise. Trant had
struck quickly, his fist passing the
opened visor and thumping a telling
blow against the bared chin. The man
in the space suit flailed out awkward-
ly, unable to escape the swift succes-
sion of blows rained oh his unpro-
tected face by his more agile adver-
sary.

Presently he slumped to the floor,
unconscious, and Ellord Trant
breathed heavily as he stripped the
body and donned the space suiting.
Turning oxygen from the shoulder
compressors into the helmet, he
breathed deeply, crept to an airlock,
and stared through the sheathed glass-
ite scanner at one side.

Trant’s pulse was throbbing; for a
moment he wondered if his jaded
emotions were entertaining some
small S3rmpathy for these terrestrials
he had betrayed. It had been an
accident that he^ of all Earthmen,
had seen the faces of the- Core Dwel-
lers, and continued to live, despite
the ferocious Arachnidas that lay em-
bedded in trap-embankments over the

entire surface sphere of Planetoid
42XY, emerging merely to prey upon
and ravage the smaller of passing
space vessels that were lured to their
rocky world.

Yet it seemed a long time since that
day he had first shared the confidences
of Her. His searing glance razed
space; he saw the lower bulging sur-
face of the space ship hovering over
the grey planetoid and glimpsed futile
rays flashing harmlessly down at the
blistery embankments of the garri-
soned Arachnidas.

Queer, this dazed sensation that
swept over him; he could remember
his entire life, not distinctly, but
vaguely, and the battered face of the
man he had just overpowered kept
creeping into his consciousness. Then
he was cursing, shouting, coughing
against the transparent cowling of his
helmet, for he had seen a reflection
of a man crawling close to the floor,
and the bruised face was that of Cur-
tiss. He wheeled, but found the com-
partment empty.

“Ellord Trant!” whispered the
space-phones in his toggings accus-
ingly. “You are the renegade. We
didn’t know.”

LLORD leaped forward swiftly,
for that ionic communication
had seemed to have emanated from
other head-sets than his own. He was
reasonably certain that Curtiss could
not have recovered in this short
length of time. His body was tingling
numbly; he wondered all at once if he
had heard anything at all. If it hadn’t
all been just his conscience. He was
quite aloiie. Even his shouts had
aroused none of the crew that usually
loitered about low-deck.

No time to lose now. Trant turned
and whirled the tumblers of the air-
lock. His pulse jerked like a trip-
hammer. Every pore of his body was
exuding perspiration. He stood in the
cubicle and let the inner door fasten.
In the momentary darkness a hy-
sterical elation seized upon him. He
recalled every delineation of Her, as
she would be in the subterranean sanc-
tuary, waiting.

Oddly enough he could not feel

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

triumph over the cul-de-sac into which
he had betrayed the terrestrial ship.
That counterfeit ether message had
played upon their softer sentiments,
had taken advantage of the fact that
they were — Earthmen.

A bare two hundred feet of vacuum,
empty beneath the undifFused yellow
sun of space, separated the V. S. Pel-
ledaria from the corrugated terrain.
With the gravity-belt, Trant could
make the intervening distance in a
clean-driving dive, decelerating his
speed near the surface to alight softly
on his feet near one of the apertures
beyond which lay safety. Then the
Arachnidas would ascend and pillage
the helpless vessel.

He stood in the orifice now. His
breath came fast as he prepared to
leap. His gauntlet rasped against the
metal hull, and he felt the air in the
lock cubicle rush past into the
vacuum. The sound that rattled from
his mouth was not pleasant to hear.
He thought fleetingly pf Curtiss again,
and kicked out as he fell downward.

For a moment he plummeted head-
long; his universe was clouded with a
strange settling pallor, like the tawny
down of Her lustrous hair. A million
stars enveloped it; something
wrenched at every fiber of his being.
He was enveloped in a flaming con-
flagration that materialized almost too
suddenly to register the pain that tore
deeply.

High up in the bridge tower of the
space ship, Captain Kurdley stood
nervously over his visor screen.

“I had the low-deck cleared, except
for Curtiss,” he said. “It’s in a danger-
ous area. We tested the static charge

of the asteroid three hours ago, and
have been building up an opposite
charge ever since. If it wasn’t for the
vacuum it would tear across the bar-
rier, destroy it. Yet a perfect vacuum
will not carry an electrical discharge.”

“Perhaps something is wrong,” sug-
gested an under officer, staring at a
space chronometer. “Two minutes
have passed since Curtiss went below.
The gunners are ready to man the Y-
beams if he succeeds.”

For some time the photon rotors had
been trying to do the impossible, to
generate a spark of searing electricity
that would span the two hundred foot
void below. Captain Kurdley’s chin
was trembling. Muscles knotted in his
cheeks as he leaned uncertainly
against a control stanchion. He hated
to see a man go willingly to sure
death, even though the sacrifice would
not be in vain.

^ THUNDEROUS concussion rang
through the vessel from stem to
stern. Through the prow visors they
saw the space-togged man dive' down-
ward, saw the blinding flash of un-
leashed electrical fury that leaped out
and followed. At the same time, the
V. S. Pelledaria lurched aside, un-
guided but freed of its shackles. From
the midmain came the exultant shout-
ing of the crew.

Captain Kurdley frowned to hide his
emotion.

“Someone had to leave a path of
tenuous air, mushrooming in his wake
from an airlock, to enable the dis-
charge to leap across the vacuum. It
worked. Now let them attack. Poor
Curtiss!’:

CONQUEST OF LIFE

A Powerful Novelette of Laboratory Magic

if EAUP©

— in the Next Issue

GREEN HELL

Frampton sprayed the greenies with a chloride solution.

The Planed Versys is &he Fester Sp©t ©f the S@iar System —
amid No Wonder^ with its Strange Chl@r@=men

and the Whizzing Flies i

iy AUTHyR 1C. BAINES

Author of “The Emotion Solution,” etc.

T he compact metal-walled house
rose on its four spindly legs,
twenty feet above the spongy
earth. Around it, swirling sluggishly,
clung the eternal Venusian mist, dank
and hot and miasmatic.

A figure resolved slowly from the fog
before the house, a young man dressed
in the thin rubberized garments of the
Venus colonials, the broad-soled boots
that enabled men to traverse the many

dangerous spots of steaming marsh-
land. 'The young man stared keenly at
the house, then withdrew a few yards
into the all-enveloping obscurity.

Prom the rotting bole of a fallen
giant cycad he drew a tiny portable
broadcaster, designed to operate on a
tight beam. The diminutive micro-
phone was equipped with a “scram-
bler” which made low voice tones high,
and high tones low, thus precluding

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

any danger of interception of a mes-
sage except by someone equipped with
an “unscrambler.”

The man spent perhaps five minutes
calling and delivering a brief message,
after which he returned the equipment
to its hiding place.

Once again he came into view in the
little clearing before the house. Pant-
ing heavily, he climbed up the steps to
the narrow, encircling porch, then
paused to wipe the sweat from his fore-
head and take a last look around. It
was young Ben Frampton.

“God, what a hole!” he muttered
aloud.

He had left the sweet, cool Earth
scarcely two months ago, and had ex-
perienced only a half dozen or so of
Venus’ week-long, dragging days and
endless, bitterly cold nights. Already
he was heartily sick of the place. Des-
pite the temperature-regulating layer
of carbon dioxide in Venus’ upper at-
mosphere, the strangling humidity and
man-killing heat was almost too much
to bear. The sub-zero nights could be
combatted with furs and heat units,
but the heat — God ! '

Nor was that all. Frampton despised
the ever-present, sickly grey-green
mists that throttled vision and choked
the lungs. He never wanted to see
again the scanty vegetation, the tall,
lonely trees shooting high through the
fog desperately striving to reach the
sun, broad-bladed leaves spread wide
to catch ever faintest seepage of the
rare rays of sunlight. He was nause-
ated by the innumerable corpse-white
fungi that sprang up every day from
the damp ground, with their puff-balls
popping incessantly to cast their spores
about and propagate their nasty breed
the more.

He hated the - devilish work that
went on in that strange place. And
most of all he had a deep-seated ab-
horrence for the company whose name
was printed in chromium over the door
of the station — Interplanetary Enter-
prises, Inc., Station No. 9. That was
what made the planet such a fester-
spot in the System. Well, it wouldn’t
be for long, Frampton thought grimly.

He went in and slammed the door.
Quickly he stripped to the waist and

reveled in the dry coolness of the
mildly refrigerated interior. The sound
of measured footsteps came from one
of the two tiny bedrooms.

“Old-timer,” Frampton called. “I’m
back again. Good news.” He paused to
sniff at the lingering odor of disinfect-
ant in the air. “Did you have a chem-
spray while I was gone,?”

“Old-timer” Ellerbee, station man-
ager, entered the living room. He was
old, with a seamed and weatherbeaten
face and mild blue eyes that always
seemed to be seeing distant places and
things. The upper half of his body was
badly scarred, relics of a thousand bat-
tles and adventures in the wild, fron-
tiers of the System. He nodded.

“Yep. No use making you sit and
hold your nose, too. So I cleaned up
while you were out.”

f T was necessary to disinfect the
place thoroughly every seventy-two
hours, else Earthmen would quickly
succumb to the strange and malignant
bacterial infections that , swarmed the
hothouse that was Venus, and against
which Earthly bodies have built up no
defense.

“Compound’s full again.” Frampton
sighed. “Ten greenies. Natives
brought in the last one while I was
down there. I suppose we’d better call
for a freighter.”

“No hurry,” said Ellerbee presently,
his old voice calm and unmoved.
“Guess I’ll run down and look the new
arrivals over. Feel like going out again
with me? No need to if you’re tired.”
Frampton opened one of the misted ,
windows, cleared it with one sweep of
his hand, and closed it again, staring
out upon the dead face of the fog. Mo-
notony. It would have driven men
much stronger than Frampton crazy in
no time.

But old Ellerbee seemed made of
phlegm and whipcord. Somehow he
managed to stick it out ; he had been
here four years now. Frampton looked
at his superior for the hundredth time
and found no answer to the riddle.

“I’ll go with you,” he agreed. “Need
the exercise.” He started to dress
again, then turned impulsively to the
older man. “Say, Old-timer. I’ve never

GREEN HELL

asked you this. But why are you out
here in this hell-hole? You ought to
be back on Earth, taking it easy, liv-
ing in comfort, having — ” He broke off
in embarrassment at having broken an
unwritten law. “None o’ my damn'
business, I know. If I’m being nosey,
just tell me to shut upJ”

Ellerbee smiled slowly.

“No, I don’t mind telling you. Dome
good to get it off my chest, maybe — ’’
He spoke evenly, quietly. “It was just
a bad break, I guess. I was with the
Interplanetary Patrol. For twenty-
three years I served, in the ranks and
in command. I captained a space crui-
ser, a fighting ship. For years I had the
power of life and death over my crew,
and I never misused it. We built up
a reputation as a scrapping outfit. Not
a failure on our record. Then when I
was due for retirement and a pension,

I made a couple of mistakes. So here I
am grounded, on this stinking planet,
engaged ia the filthiest traffic in the
universe.” Elletbee’s voice held no
rancor, no animosity. It was almost as
if the man’s spirit were broken.

Frampton understood in a dim way.
Habitual salute, absolute power, is a
strange thing ; it can color and warp a
man’s whole life. The gesture is one
fraught with meaning — respect, admi-
ration, recognition of superior ability,
authority. The captain of a space ship
is the king of a tiny world, an absolute
monarch.

In his ability to handle the incalcu-
lable energies at his command, ^d de-
feat time and space itself in his dash
through the very stars, he is a minor
deity, a god. For such a one to be shorn
of his glory with a single stroke of the
pen is very near to murder. Frampton
nodded.

Ellerbee’s voice droned on.

“Even as a captain the pay in the
Patrol isn’t high. I had but little saved.
It seemed the only thing to do was to
risk everything to make a small stake
in the few working years I had left.
This was my choice.” He shrugged.

Frampton understood this more
clearly. For the shipment of greenies
now gathered in the coftipound outside,
Ellerbee would receive about t«i thou- ,
sand American dollars. Frampton him-

self would collect about a thousand.
And the Company would make about a
hundred thousand, he thought bitterly.

“But think of the risks you’re taking.
The climate, the physical dangers of
the planet here. And suppose you get
caught by the police. You’d spend the
rest of yom life rotting in prison or ex-
iled to a living death in the mines of
Mercury. Old-timer, why don’t you get
out of here? Now !” He’d become quite
fond of the old renegade. He even felt
he’d confide in him fully except for the
old man’s creed of unswerving loyalty
tq his employer, no matter whom it
might bd.

LLERBY smiled faintly, philo-
sophically.

“Shall we go?”

Frampton led the way out, pausing
to shut the door tightly behind them.
As he started to cross tihe porch, there
came a sudden shrill whine and a si-
multaneous clang of metal. Frampton
flinched automatically, then grinned
shewishly.

“One o’ those dangers I mentioned a
minute ago,” he said. “I never can re-
member that those damn’ whiz-bangs
are already past by the time we hear
the whine.”

He stooped to pick up a tiny, heavily-
armored, beetlelike insect where it lay
squirming on the porch after hurtling
into the metal wall of the house. “Hard
to believe these things can go seven
hundred and fifty miles an hour. Fast-
er than the speed of sound.” The insect
was about the size of the point of a
fountain pen, and its armor was suffi-
ciently sturdy to protect it from most
natural hazards to be encountered on
its speedy travels. It could puncture
dangerously a man’s fiesh, or slice a
nasty gash.

Ellerbee was already halfway down
the stairs.

“There’s a fly back in South America
that leaves these whiz-bangs standing
still. Supposed to go better than eight
hundred miles an hour.”*

Frampton didn’t bother to answer.
Talking at length in the steamy atmos-
phere left a man gasping. Instead, he

* The deer-bot fly.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

followed the older man along the path,
which was lined at intervals with phos-
phorus-tipped metal markers. Present-
ly the compound loomed mysteriously
from the grey opaqueness, taking shape
as a simple corral of electrically-
charged wires in the form of a rough
square. In it, sitting or standing mo-
tionless and silent, were ten of the
strangest of all creatures to be found
on any of the known planets of the uni-
verse.

These were the chloro-men of Venus.

Through some unfathomable quirk
of nature, this nearly extinct species
represented a curious link between
plant and animal worlds. Averaging
about five feet in height, they were only
semi-vertebrate in structure, having
tough cables of cartilage supporting
their bodies instead of bones. . Their
skin was a porous, bark-like substance,
at once flexible and unbelievably tough.
About seventy per cent of their “blood
stream” was a compound almost identi-
cal with chlorophyl, the element which
enables plants to absorb the energy of
the sunlight and use it for conversion
of carbon dioxide into starches and pro-
teins.

The presence of this chlorophyl in
their veins gave the chloro-men a
greenish tinge — hence the colloquial
reference to them as “greenies.” They
had eyes and rudimentary ears, but nei-
ther mouth nor nose, since they ate and
breathed like plants, through , their
“skin.”

For locomotion, they depended on a
sort of flowing pseudopodal motion of
the under parts ; though they had arms,
there were no true legs. They moved
but seldom, and always slowly.

Since the upkeep of these strange
creatures was almost nothing, only
CO2 and a few minerals being neces-
sary, and as they were, very enduring
and could work for great lengths of
time without fatigue, they were highly
prized by wealthy Tellurian and Mar-
tian landowners as slaves. But laws
had been passed, forbidding capture or
sale of the chloro-men.

They were declared contraband, and
violators of the anti-slavery laws were
liable to severe punishment. However,
once on Earth, the excessive sunlight

so stepped up the metabolism of the
greenies that their normal life span of
two or three hundred years was radi-
cally shortened. So the demand exceed-
ed the supply, and the price went up,
and smugglers with daring and cunning
made fortunes by slipping through the
blockade with their illegal cargo.*

“Poor devils,” said Frampton bitter-
ly, as the two men looked over the
shipment. Their soft eyes staring ap-
pealingly in bewilderment always
stirred the young man’s pity. “This is
a rotten business. Old-timer.”

LINKING around the outskirts of
the clearing were half a dozen of
the scaly man-things native to the plan-
et, awaiting their payment with candy
and cheap, loud-ticking clocks and gew-
gaws. They represented the only
source of supply for the slavers; an
Earthman would hardly know where to
look for the curious chloro-men, and
the terrific climate wouldn’t allow him
to penetrate the unexplored wilderness
very far.

Ellerbee nodded equably.

“Sure. It’s rotten. So what? I’ve
got no choice, son. A man must live.
And besides, I don’t believe they care
about it much one way or the other.”

Indeed, they were strangely apathet-
ic. Though they might prove danger-
ous if aroused, because of their invul-
nerability to ordinary weapons, they
seemed to be without any will or de-
sires beyond those of satisfying bodily
needs. When hungry, they made a
nerve-torturing humming sound in^ a
sort of sound-box located in the head
cavity. Raising and lowering the pitch
sufficed as a spoken language.

Frampton looked up as if striving to
pierce the clouds, then listened intent-
ly. Nothing.

/ “Just the same,” he muttered, “I
think you ought to get out of here. No
place for you.”

Ellerbee finished paying off the shy
natives, who giggled and grinned and

* Once the greenies were in the rich buyers* hands,
the l^w could be defeated by one of several methods.
Sometimes the registration, of a dead chloro-man was
transferred to the new unlawful entry; or a newcomer
was attributed to the result of a union- between two
slaves (which occasionally actually happened) bought
before the anti-slavery law was passed. The law did
not operate ex post facto.

GREEN HELL

made loud smacking noises as they re-
ceived their candy bars, and stared in
wide-eyed ecstasy at the other gifts the
old man’s generosity netted them. EL
lerbee looked at young Frampton out
of inscrutable eyes.

“That’s not the first time you’ve said
that, son. Mean anything in particu-
lar?”

Frampton frovwied helplessly and
turned away.

“No. Let’s get back to the station.
You’ll be wanting to notify the Com-
pany to send a freighter out here.” The
cheap, rattle-trap space /ship whose
crew no company wouldf^ insure. The
space ship that would take the chloro-
men to a strange world, if it didn’t fall
apart in mid-voyage, where they would
live and die in slavery. The young
man’s mouth twisted with a sour taste
as the two of them finished the inspec-
tion and tramped soddenly back to the
house.

Young Frampton awoke from a rest-
less sleep with the roar of rockets in
his ears. He hastened to a window,
opened it to sweep off the mist, then
peered out. It was late. Another
twelve hours and the long night would
be on them.

“Rocket ship, son?” called Ellerbee
from another room.

“Yeah. Can’t see a thing, though.
Listen.” The rhythmic thunder of the
rocket-tubes became irregular, sput-
tered feebly, then roared out full again.
Several times the noise abated and
picked up. “Hear that? Looking for
us, probably. That’s a landing signal.”

“Right. Probably the Company
ship.”

Frampton hurried out without dress-
ing, clattered down the stairs and
around to the rear of the station. Here
was a huge tank, with a four-inch pipe
leading from it into the oblivion of the
mist. A lever was thrown, and the
throb of an electric pump began^

A quarter-mile distant, invisible from
the station, was the landing field. A
gigantic skeleton-work of lightweight
pipes surrounded it, thrusting high into
the air, equipped with hundreds of tiny
high-preaeure nozzles. Fluid from the
big tank, a solution of calcium chloride,
was pumped to the field and sent out in

a lofty spray. The calcium chloride,
with its tremendous affinity for water,
quickly dissolved a vertical tunnel of
visibility in the fog. Down this column
of clarity the space ship could descend
with safety.

T he booming of the rockets, queer-
ly distorted and mufiUcd by the
clouds, thudded louder and louder
against the ear-drums, then abruptly
cut off. The sudden silence was pain-
ful, and Frampton shook his head to
clear the ringing in his ears. He swung
back the lever, and the pump wheezed
to silence. Fog would once again be
stealthily closing in over the field.

Frampton returned to the station to
wait for the ship’s officers to arrive.
For several minutes he stood on the
porch, straining at the tomblike silence
of this alien world, broken only by the
whispered puffs of the fungi bursting
their spore-balls now and then. No one
came.

Frampton stirred uneasily. Old El-
lerbee quietly joined him on the porch
and spoke.

“Wonder what’s keeping ’em. Hear
anything?”

“Not a sound. Usually you can hear
noises from the ship, or voices. But
I haven’t heard a thing. Could they be
lost?”

Ellerbee shook his head.

“I checked the trail-markers to the
field not thirty hours ago. Something’s
wrong. I think we’d better — ”

His answer came instantly, the dead-
ly hiss of a heat-ray that sizzled
through the white mists and spattered
molten metal from the wall of the sta-
tion. The old man cried out sharply,
clutching his left arm as he lurched
back through the door. Frampton
dived in after him and slammed the
door against a barrage of questing rays.
“Hurt?” cried Frampton.

Ellerbee didn’t trust himself to speak.
The sick odor of burning flesh stung
the nostrils. As the old man’s hand
dropped away, an ugly, three-inch
blackened spot was revealed high on
his upper arm. He quickly opened a
jar of sweet-smelling salve and slapped
a generous handful on the wound. His
eyes swam momentarily in tears of
pain.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

“That’s better,” he grunted. “Now
let’s get them !”

“Fine by me,” ripped out Frampton
savagely, rummaging in a locker for
weapons. “What the devil’s their idea,
anyhow? Hi-jackers? If so, why try
to murder us? They can have the
damn’ greenies for all I care.”

The frightful hissing of several of
the deadly heat beams sounded on the
outer walls of the station. A front win-
dow fused and fell in, molten and
steaming.

“They’re taking no chances on being
identified. If they were, the whole uni-
verse couldn’t hold ’em. If the Patrol
didn’t run ’em down, the Company cer-
tainly would.” Ellerbee turned, then
looked at Frampton, mildly appalled.
“Are those all the weapons you could
find?”

In the young man’s hands were four
heat-ray pistols and one of the cumber-
some but deadly single-shot cathode
projectors, with half a dozen charges.

“Not prepared for a siege, are we?”
Frampton smiled wryly.

The old man shrugged with fatalistic
calm.

“Well, let’s get to work with what
we have.”

Things began to hum. Every move-
ment, every vague shape that wavered
in the mist outside was the recipient
of a red-hot blast. Every window,
every aperture in the station walls, was
a target for the raiders. Men screamed
in agony now and then, their xries flat
and echoeless and strangely iemote.
Once or twice the blinding, deadly
cathode bolts whammed against the
metal .wall. Frampton shuddered. Al-
most any kind of a hit with a cathode
was fatal, horribly so.

There was perhaps twenty minutes
of desultory sniping, with no damage
to either side. Then the attack was re-
newed with vicious intensity from
above! First intimation came to the
defenders when the small skylight
shattered in upon them in a shower of
hot fragments of glass. Steaming bolts
hissed in through the opening in the
roof.

LLERBEE and Frampton scam-
pered for the corners, out of the
line of Are, gazing at each other with

startled eyes. Ellerbee cautiously
maneuvered himself to get a peep
through the broken skylight. What he
saw brought a chuckle to his throat.
He beckoned to Frampton.

“Get an eyeful o’ that, son !”

And Frampton did get an eyeful of
the strange things that swooped down
suddenly from the security of the mist,
with faint swishing sounds, taking pot-
shots at the station and skimming
away again like an airplane strafing the
enemy.

The bat-men of Jupiter! Strange
form of intelligent life from the largest
of the planets. Their six prehensile
legs were now being used to manipu-
late a weapon of destruction. Built
with sturdy frames to withstand Jovian
gravity, but jwith thin, membranous
skins and numerous air-pockets to
make them a s;ort of semi-lighter-than-
air creature, they were at home in the
furious gales that rage eternally on
Jupiter. Twin sheets of skin extending
from front to rear, enabled them to
glide with “wings” outstretched like
the flying squirrel.*

A half-dozen experimental shots
told Frampton the story.

“Old-timer, this is bad! They go too
fast to get a bead on ’em. They’re
through a heat beam before it can do
any damage !” ,

But Ellerbee, for the first time since
Frampton had known him, had the
gleam of animation in his eyes. Once
again he was commander, dominating,
swift and concise.

“Think we’re licked, eh? Get the
searchlight !”

The young man gaped.

“Searchlight?” The station was
equipped with a small but powerful
spotlight, portable, which sometimes
came in handy when " emergencies
arose during the long night.

“You heard me! The searchlight!”
snapped Ellerbee.

“Yes, sir.” Frampton slipped the
coverings off the light and trundled it
into the main room.

Ellerbee wheeled it into position,
aiming up through the skylight.

“Stand by with your gun, ready for

* In the lesser gravities of the smaller planets, the
Jovians found they could develop muscles that would
actually move their winglike. membranes up down, en-
abling them to fly awkwardly, instead of gliding. .

GREEN HELL

action! This is a trick I learned ten
years ago.”

As the next bat-man appeared from
the clouds, Ellerbee snapped on ,the
dazzling beam and pinned the strange
creature in the air. To Frampton’s
amazement, the Jovian appeared to
struggle in awkward panic, fluttering
down the light beam in jerky circles,
helpless.

“Get him 1” Ellerbee’s voice snapped
in his ear, and Frampton went to work
in earnest on his easy target. Soon the
Jovian fell to the ground, twisted and
smoking. A second bat-man was
similarly brought down a charred
crisp, a third, a fourth, a fifth. Then
the aerial attack was halted.

Ellerbee switched off the spotlight
and turned to Frampton, bright-eyed
and triumphant. The old man was re-
living the past. He was a fighting man
once again.

“Phototropism,” he explained. “The
muscles of the Jovian’s bodies are al-
ways taut, normally. When light falls
sideward on an insect, it starts photo-
chemical changes in one of the eyes,
affecting one side of the brain. Muscle
tension on the opposite side of the body
is lost, and movement, whether walk-
ing or flying, will be in a circle. The
Jovians, like moths, are not attracted
by light, but are forced against their
wishes to drop into its rays.” ^

The siege settled down to a half-
hearted sniping again. The station was
gradually being sieved, and the refrig-
eration plant was working steadily to
keep the temperature down.

“Doesn’t seem to be many of ’em,”
Ellerbee remarked. “If the station
walls aren’t burned away, we may be
able to hold ’em off until night, or till
the Company ship arrives.”

Hard on the heels of his remark, a
faint, sinister humming made itself
faintly heard through the murk. Loud-
er it came, half-wail, half-moan, rising
and falling an octave at a time.

“The greehies! They’ve been freed!”
Ellerbee cried.

m E paused a moment to listen in-
tently. From long association
Ellerbee could interpret many of the
strange voice-sounds of the chloro-men,

even ^converse with them haltingly.

“They’ve been drugged,” he said ex-
citedly. “Turned against us somehow.
Look!”

Framptom moved over to the front
window. Just emerging from the twist-
ing fog came a ragged line of the
strange creatures, eyes rolling weirdly,
arms waving. Skulking behind them
for protection came a few hesitant fig-
ures of the hi-jackers.

Framptom raised his weapon, but
Ellerbee grabbed his arm.

“No!”

Framptom wrenched free.

“What d’you mean: no! You can’t
be thinking about your ten thousand
now, surely ! They mean business.
They’re dope-crazy. It’s kill or be
killed, man!”

Ellerbee shook his head.

“That’s not it. D’you suppose tho^e
fellows are risking the value of what
they came here to steal? Not a bit of
it. Those greenies are hard as the
devil to kill. They have to be literally
cut to shreds. We’ve already burned
out one heat-ray gun. It’ll take two
more probably to stop that advance.”

Frampton stared at the deliberate
advance, ponderous and inevitable as
a Juggernaut.

“Then what — ”

Ellerbee cut him off, began speaking
rapidly in brittle, to-the-point phrases.
As the younger man listened, admira-
tion and respect brightened on his face.
When the old man finished, Frampton
whirled like a cat.

“I got it,” he snapped, and ran for the
rear of the house. He found time to
wonder fleetingly how he had ever
thought Ellerbee a broken and pitiable
creature.

In a small storeroom he seized the
last remaining keg of salt under one
muscular arm and scrambled through
a window onto the encircling balcony.
A narrow catwalk ran from the balcony
to the big calcium chloride tank, and
he ran across recklessly. Quickly tap-
ping the keg, he dumped its contents
into the tank, then hurried down a lad-
der to the ground.

The wicked hiss of an adversary’s
heat-ray greeted him, coming so close
he felt the singe of its passage. He

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

ducked behind the tank for safety. For
a minute the two of them played a cat-
and-mouse game about the tank, but
Frampton was wild at every second’s
delay. Desperately he jumped into the
clear to duel it out with his opponent.
Then, from above and behind, came the
snap and thunderclap of a cathode bolt
as it ripped past his shoulder. Elec-
tricity transmitted on ionized air
hurled him to the damp soil, left him
momentarily dazed, paralyzed.

He glanced behind him painfully.
Old Ellerbee had deserted his post to
cover his young partner. He pointed
silently with the muzzle of his gun to
the dead and twisted body of the man
who had out-flanked Frampton in the
pbscurr.ty of the mist, and who had been
about to cut him down.

Frampton shivered, and cold sweat
popped out on his brow. He jumped
to his feet without further waste of
time and ran to the lever controlling
the electric pump, threw it over. A
half-dozen powerful twists shut off the
flow of fluid through the pipe to the
landing field. He unrolled the thick
coils of emergency hose that hung 'on a
prong beside the tank and ran back to
the station.

In Ellerbee’s absence, the chloro-
men, with their slow gliding move-
ment, had reached the steps already.
Behind them, growing more and more
bold, slunk the scavengers, unkempt,
bearded outlaws, Frampton slipped
underneath the station platform, aimed
the hose at the horde of greenies, and
opened the nozzle.

A gigantic stream of concentrated
solution of calcium chloride and so-
dium chloride sprayed a blinding
shower over them. They paused. The
weird humming changed key. Framp-
ton thought he detected a note of panic,
of fear. And he smiled, half grimly,
half pityingly.

The chloro-men turned to flee, obey- ,,
ing their near-dormant instinct of self-
preservation, but they were far too
slow. They turned a sickly, washed-
out color. They began to shrink, rap-
idly sagging in collapse under the
deadly spray. In three minutes they
lay on the ground twitching limply,
scattered green blobs of helpless cells.

W ITH the first shower from the
hose, the mist had thinned in a
wide arc before the station, and the
raiders, after a sharp exchange with
Ellerbee in which one man had gone
down with his face a hideous blackened
ruin, quickly retreated to the slielter
of the clouds. Frampton shut off the
hose, opened the pipe to the neld, and
left the pump going. Scaling the lad-
der up the side of the tank, he quickly
made his way back into the station. A
triumphant Ellerbee. shook hands with
the grinning Frampton.

“Boy I That got ’em. Old-timer,”
Frampton exulted. “Just as you said.
But what exactly was it that struck
them down?”

“Plasmolysis. You sprayed ’em with
a salt solution much more concentrated
than the solution in their individual
cells. Exosmosis resulted, the water
passing from the cell sap outward
through the cytoplasmic membrane.
The vacuoles in each greenie became
smaller, and the cytoplasm shrank
from the cell wall. They literally
wilted before your eyes.”

Frampton risked a glance through
one glassless window.

“Dead?”

“Oh, no. That’s the beauty of it.
Those creatures are much more resist-
ant than an ordinary plant. They’ll
come around good as new in a few
hours. Plenty o’ moisture in the at-
mosphere always, so, they can easily
refill their cells when the salt solution
disappears.”

The exultation of the defenders was
short-lived, however. Made more des-
perate by approaching nightfall, the
raiders rolled a felled tree into view in
the clearing around the station. From
its shelter two sultry, crimson beams
played hotly on one of the stiltlike legs
that supported the corners of the sta-
tion.

The acrid odor of molten metal as-
sailed the nostrils. The station began
to quiver jerkily, then sagged heavily,
at the comer as the leg snapped. Eller-
bee and Frampton slipped and fell,
rolled down the sharp incline into the
corner where they borinced in a tangle
of arms and legs as the house swayed,
still supported on three legs.

GREEN HELL

The heat-rays outside began work-
ing on a second support.

Frampton grinned.

“Begins to look like the finish. Night
won’t be here in time to help do any-
thing but preserve the bodies.’’

Carefully the two of them crawled
up the slanting floor to remove their
weight from the weakened side. Eller-
bee’s serene, faded eyes didn’t even
blink at the prospect. He gloried in
this chance to die fighting.

“We can cross the catwalk and per-
haps escape into the mist,” he sug-
gested. “Though if the Company ship
doesn’t arrive before night, or if we
get lost — ” He spread his gnarled
hands suggestively.

“Just the same,” said Frampton
cheerily, “we’re going to take that
chance. Get moving. Old-timer.”

Cautious reconnoitering failed to dis-
close any lurking figures at the rear, a
circumstance suspicious in itself. But
the second support in front was already
buckling under the strain, groaning.
So Ellerbee slid out the window onto
the catwalk and moved quickly over to
the tank.

Down the ladder he went, and what
noise he made was covered by the throb
of the pump, and by the bang and clat-
ter of the movable furniture as it rolled
forward and smashed into the front
wall. Ellerbee vanished into the safety
of the mist.

Frampton darted forward to follow,
but as he did so, the vicious rip of a
cathode-bolt slammed the air. Before
his eyes the catwalk burst asunder into
a dozen twisted fragments, and, striv-
ing desperately to leap the remaining
distance to the tank, he fell.

n^HE slightly lesser gravity and the
Jil- spongy soil tended to break the
force of his fall, but one ankle turned,
under hirn as he struck. Pain knifed
up through his leg, and he bit his lips
to stifle a groan. He was through.

“Run for it, Ellerbee!” he bellowed
into the obscurity of the mist. “Don’t
wait for me!” Then he crumpled to
the ground despairing as Ellerbee came
at a clumsy run out of the fog in a
frantic effort to rescue his injured
partner. But in vain.

Like sinister ghosts a half-dozen
black-winged creatures materialized
from the murk in a ragged circle about
the two men. Their man-made weapons
were held in readiness as they squatted
in silent threat on the damp ground.
Behind them, resolving into focus like
a television close-up, came the leaders
of the raiding party — black-bearded
fellows, dressed dirtily and cheaply,
with grinning white teeth and a preda-
tory gleam in their eyes.

“Toss your guns this way,” called
one of them in gruff command.

Ellerbee glanced about sharply.

“You’re going to murder us any-
how,” he answered loudly. “Why
shouldn’t we fight it out? If you want
us to give in quietly, give us some
guarantee we’ll not be burned down.”

The raider’s reply was instantaneous.
He flipped up his gun and bored a siz-
zling hole high in Ellerbee’s thigh. The
old man dropped his weapon and con-
vulsively clutched at the wound. BiJ;-
ter curses came to his lips. The bat-
men raised their weapons to finish the
job, aimed. A thin scream zipped past,
and another, and then a host of them./
The metal walls of the drunkenly sag-
ging station rang sharply in a devil’s
tattoo.

There came the thunk of tiny projec-
tiles whipping into soft, membranous
flesh, the buzz of a ricochet as they
struck glancingly off a thick skull. A
swarm of whiz-bang beetles had hur-
tled blindly into the clearing.

The Jovians let out a series of hoarse
yelps and took to the air as the whiz-
bangs riddled their frail bodies. The
dark-faced outlaws hesitated, then
flung themselves to the ground in com-
pact, curling balls, the only protective
measure possible. Frampton seized
Ellerbee about the waist, recklessly at-
tempting to drag the two of them to
the shelter of the mist, but it proved
too much for him. The whiz-bang bee-
tles had blundered their deadly way
through the clearing and vanished be-
fore the two men had even reached the
calcium chloride tank.

But as the raiders picked themselves
up from the wet earth, and as the ugly,
winged Jovians swooped back to rest,
a shrill whine split the silence in ever-

100 -

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

increasing volume. All activity was
suspended in mid-moment.

Everyone recognized that shrill cre-
scendo — the motor of one of the new
centrifugal flyers, the stern of which
contained a centrifuge potent enough
to move a mountain, with millions of
tiny rotors running in blasts of com-
pressed air, millions of tiny tops gen-
erating sufficient energy to hurl the
ship through space at terrific speed.

Ellerbee looked at Frampton in star-
tled incomprehension, then at the still
pounding electric pump. Frampton
read, the thoughts as they passed in
review in the old man’s eyes. The field
was under spray, and the new arrival
would be able to land. 'Frampton had
deliberately left the spray apparatus
going; therefore he expected the ship.

Company ship? Not likely. The
Company owned a few of the new cen-
trifugal flyers, but they wouldn’t risk
one to the vagaries of the slave-smug-
gling trade. If not a Company ship,
then what? Very few private concerns
could afford them. Was it the Inter-
planetary Patrol? Was Frampton,
then, a Judas !

XPLANATIONS were cut short
by the sudden cessation of the
centrifuge motor, the breaking out of
distant battle, shouts and the crack and
hiss of guns. This quit as suddenly
as it began, punctuated by a deafening
concussion and the far-on rain of me-
tallic debris following the explosion.

“There goes their rocket-ship cried
Frampton delightedly.

Raiders and their Jovian allies alike
vanished toward the landing field.

“And there go the hi-jackers !’’

Ellerbee clamped his jaws tight and
struggled to his feet. The wound itself
was not dangerous, as the heat-ray’s
passage cauterized it instantly. But
the leg was weakened considerably,
and the old man was forced to hobble
along on one foot.

“And here goes Ellerbee,’’ he said,
half bitterly, half sorrowfully. He
hopped away toward the mist curtain
that shrouded the little clearing.

Frampton, also favoring one leg,
jack-rabbited after his partner and gen-
tly sat him down on the ground.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You stay right
here,’’ he grinned.

Ellerbee grimaced in pain.

“Kind o’ rubbin’ it in, ain’t you, son?
I didn’t think you’d arrest me—’’

Another spasmodic burst of firing
sounded nearby, then footsteps
sounded through the murk, approach-
ing invisibly. Presently a squad of men
appeared, wearing the uniforms of the
Interplanetary Patrol. They were led
by a lieutenant, who came to a halt be-
fore the two men on the ground.

“Lieutenant Howe reporting. Cap-
tain Frampton,’’ he saluted, smiling.

“Excuse the apparent discourtesy.
Lieutenant, but I find it painful to
stand. You scattered those hi-jackers?’’

“To the four winds, sir. A short wait
should bring the slave-ship right into
our waiting arms, and another link in
this rotten traffic will be wiped out.
Is this your prisoner, sir? Shall we put
him in irons?’’

Ellerbee lay face down. At the
words he rolled over.

“Not at all,” Frampton cried heart-
ily. “This is my colleague, Ellerbee.”
He stretched out a hand and pulled the
old man to a sitting position, then spun
hfs fluent falsehood. “He had himself
busted out of the .Patrol in order to
work himself into the slave-ring. He’s
got a future in the Service.”

Ellerbee and Frampton exchanged a
long glance, in which Frampton paid
sileiit and whimsical tribute to the
creed of loyalty and that prevented him
from revealing his true status before
now. Old Ellerbee glanced down at
the tiny tpken left in his palm when
Franipton’s helping hand had pulled
him upright. It was metal, cut in the
form of an all-seeing eye, mirroring
the sun and the, planets. The letters
I. S. S. were embossed on it. The In-
terstellar. Secret Service !

Ellerbee clutched it tightly and
thrust his shoulders back. It was plain
what that token meant to him — re-
spect, honor, manhood, all those things
that had been stripped from him four
years before. His eyes were strangely
misted as he looked around the clear-
ing. The young lieutenant, Howe,
clicked his heels and saluted smartly.

“At your service, sir,” he said.

. A MUfA&BR cm Atxy.Etl-

TORE^» X LANDED 'ON AVERCURy.

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ZONE OF THAT PLMaST.

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mad ROLSR, THAHHi who Took us
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WHILE X AM master oF ALL THINGS

PMOW THb .SEeR&TA Ot^ TH^ ^urtK"

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.X CAN SEE

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OUR PHYSiCAt- BODIES NOW. BUT EVEN So.,
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release us, and we WILE l/APART TO YOU
OUH KNOW LED (SE AND /MAKE YOU /MASTER
OF ALL MAA/«KIND

IS IT HOT WONDERFULTI X NEWER PELT BETTEI
AM X HOT A 6ENIUS ? / IN MY LIFE. WE
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freeing us. FOLLQW
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PLEASANT TO BE

[Turn Page]

WB ZOOMSP AWAy BBF«RE THE ARMQ' C.OUt.O
REACM OS. THSy rtREb AT US, BUT LUCKIUV
MOMS eP TH«m »S»t.OS>VB WAVS TOOCHEO OS

WHERE PO you
suGOEsr eTARRe.r
you KNOW THIS
planet/.

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IHOLI.OW MOUNTAIN THAT
^STANDS ON THE_Cql.CL
DARK BIDE OP MERCutfy/

AS WE APPROACHED THE MOUNTAIN OUR PLANE
LURCHEB. MASNETl-tKB RATB PULUEb US TO-
WARD THE BEEP CAVERN, BUT X COUl-ON'T PULL
AWAy EVEN THOUOH My ROCKET^ VVERS
BLASTIH& ALl- THEIR. POWER «

DOWN THROUGH THE DEPTHS op THS MOUHTAIM-

MV PLANESroPPSb IN THE HARBOR OP AM
UNOBROROUNO CITy. THE MERCURIAN ANb
MVSELP WERE MAPe PRISONERS. ETARRC
WAS OREETEb ENTHOSIASTICALt-V

THKT LEO US BEFORE THE SUPREME ONE . HE
WAS AN OLD AAAH, WITH AN ABNORMALL.y
LAR6E HEAP. SIMILAR To THOSEOBTHeMAP RACE

103

THE BLACK
VORTEX

The space ship
plunged inexorably
toward the vortex

Kenneth Armstrong Vanishes in the

Cosmic Sky-Eater that No Science

Can Explain — 'and Returns to

the Earth as an Atomic Ghost!

By FRANK BELKNAP LONG, JR.

Author of “Invaders from the Outer Suns” “Cones,” etc.

T he little space ship was ap-
proaching Mars’ orbit at a max-
imum acceleration of three thou-
sand miles a minute. As it swung in-
ward in a wide arc toward the red
planet, Kenneth Armstrong sat exult-
antly at the controls in the stern pilot-
chamber and gazed out through inches-
thick quartz at a majestic vista of
bright, little worlds in confluence.

Filling all the cold, black immensi-
ties behind him with whorls and spirals
of reflected flame the fleeing asteroids
seemed like miniature replicas of far-
off spiral nebulae and the ghosts of
perished suns. Some were tinier than
the inconsequential meteors and bo-
lides which collide with Earth in her
pilgrimage; others measured five hun-
dred miles or more in diameter. Some
were perfect spheres, others ellipsoids.

and still other jagged, shapeless masses
of metal and stone.

Visible to the naked eye on Earth
only as a faint Gegenschein opposite
the solar disc, this vast assemblage of
forlorn little space vagrants moved in
eccentric orbits between immense and
frigid Jupiter and the little colonized
planet Mars.

Armstrong knew that in less than
seven minutes he would contact the
Martian meteorological station in the
visual receptor behind him and behold
the wrinkled, kindly face of old
Thomas Caxton. From his lonely out-
post amidst the Martian snows old
Caxton would flash meteorological re-
ports and even appear in person on the
televisual screen to greet the young
American as the little ship roared
through the dark, frigid night of inter-

planetary space toward ' Earth’s fa-
miliar orbit.

Armstrong manipulated a rheostat
amidst the glittering array of levers,
dials and vertical flywheels on the con-
trol panel before him and the rear ob-
servation window winked shut. He
swung about in his metallic pivot chair
till the drum-shaped foresection of the
visual receptor completely usurped his
vision.

The tiny clock at the base of the il-
lumed control panel ticked out the sec-
onds and minutes in perfect harmony
with eight or ten million timepieces on
the remote terrestrial globe. The little
clock was set to New York time. In
New York at that moment it was pre-
cisely ten minutes to twelve on the last
day of December in the year 2046.
With any kind of luck, old Caxton’s
friendly face should appear on the re-
ceptor screen an instant before the
great metropolis of the western world
burst into sound and revelry in tribute
to the new year.

As Armstrong was a native of New
York he could legitimately share her
joyous mood. The great, white, triple-
tiered city of his birth would presently
fling confetti to the stars and stand
aureoled in radiance beside the wide
Atlantic.

The Martian colonist would see a

105

106

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

face on the visual receptor vi^hich would
radiate holiday cheer. Across the or-
bits of a thousand tiny planets Arm-
strong would extend the season’s greet-
ings and smile a little to himself in se-
cret superiority, because old Caxton,
being Mars-bom, had no bright home
city, no new year that he could right-
fully claim.

Oh, it was really a rare moment.
Armstrong had spent ten grim months
in lonely, self-imposed exile on a planet
that sucked all energy and life from
the weak and crippled the strong — a
planet that maimed the minds of men
even when their bodies proved resist-
ant and heroic.

For seven years the young American
had piloted the little transports of the
Jupiter Ore Syndicate across the bleak,
interplanetary voids, and his knowl-
edge of the spaceways had brought him
fame and honor. But the precious ores
in the storage compartment of his little
vessel did not belong to the Syndicate
this time. They belonged to the
man who had amassed them through
months of grim toil in the lonely min-
ing outposts of the largest planet in
the Solar System. Kenneth Armstrong
was homeward bound from Jupiter
with a cargo worth its weight in dia-
monds in Paris, London and New
York.

On Earth a major joy awaited him.
The flaming parade of little worlds so
near to home and the thought of old
Caxton were merely fillips which
streaked across the deep, persuasive
happiness in his mind, reminding him
that even beauty and friendship were
less indispensable than Corrine Clark.
For Corrine Clark he had wooed death
with valor and renounced even simple
joys for ten dismal months. But it had
been worth it.

The receptor screen was slowly fill-
ing with a wavering pattern of light.
Armstrong was startled for an instant.
He had already dialed the image field,
but he had not expected that Caxton’s
face would materialize so suddenly on
the white opacity before him. Usually
the Martian colonist’s voice came
through first, visual transmission being
retarded a little by ether drifts in the
wake of the revolving planet.

NMISTAKABLY the wavering
crescents, spirals and cubes of
light were clustering together in the
center of the screen to form a human
face. Armstrong’s eyes clung to the
wavering image as its scattered sec-
tions synchronized on the white screen.
He experienced an ominous foreboding
even before the features ceased their
violent flickering and old Caxton’s eyes
burned tragically into his.

Old Caxton’s face was a quivering
mask of horror. His mouth trembled,
and his head jerked and twisted curi-
ously. It was as though panic had
seeped up through his being and pro-
foundly affected the movements of his
head and neck. The veins on his tem-
ples were bulging blue cords.

As Armstrong stared in apprehen-
sion the aged watcher by the Martian
pole began to speak furiously. No
sound came from the televisual screen
but as the young pilot watched the
Martian’s swiftly moving lips form un-
mistakable vowels and consonants a
great horror crept upon him.

Gasping, he swung about in his chair
until he was facing the control panel.
Instantly he perceived that the dial
which controlled auditory reception
had slipped a fraction of an inch.
Doubtless the rhythmic throbbings of
the little craft had spun it a millimeter
beyond the narrow Martian diacoustic
field.

With tremulous fingers he grasped
and adjusted the little dial. Immedir
ately a shrill, hysterical voice filled the
pilot-chamber.

“For God’s sake, Armstrong, answer
me ! I’ve been talking for two full min-
utes. Is the diacoustic field blocked
out?”

Armstrong swung swiftly toward the
receptor again, grasping the vertical re-
lease lever which controlled the trans-
mitting instrument as he did so. Im-
mediately a wafer-thin crescent of
metal with a surface of bright filar
meshing descended from the ceiling of
the chamber and slid automatically into
the metal groove at the summit of the
televisual screen.

Armstrong addressed the bright sur-
face directly.

“Only your image came through,

THE BLACK VORTEX

107

Caxton,” he exclaimed. “Auditory re-
ception was blocked until just this
minute. Can you hear me plainly
now?”

Caxton’s lips moved again and this
time his words were clearly distin-
guishable.

“Yes, I can hear you, Kenneth. Your
image is forming too. Don’t try to tell
me why my voice didn’t register. No
time for that now. Ketmeth, how fast
are you traveling? It is of the utmost
importance that I know your speed.”

Armstrong thought an instant.

“I can’t tell exactly,” he said. “I just
throttled two of the blast engines and
the propulsion gauge won’t register
until the choke pressure eases up a bit.
But chances are I’m still traveling at
maximum acceleration.”

Caxton’s aged face seemed to cave
in. The horror in his eyes flared so
brightly that Armstrong stiffened in in-
stinctive alarm.

“What is it, Tom?” he exclaimed in
a frantic tone. “What is wrong?”

“You are traveling much too fast to
save yourself,” Caxton almost
screamed. “In less than thirty seconds
you will collide with the black vortex !
I tried to warn you when I located it
in the observatory refractor. Its po-
sition was fairly constant all last
month, but this morning, it left the
zone of planetoids and approached
Mars so closely that we feared it would
engulf us. Now it’s swung out again.
It’s about 0.14 outside our orbit and
directly in your path. Oh, why didn’t
you — ”

AXTON’S words ceased with an
appalling suddenness. .The next
instant his image vanished from the
receptor screen. It did not recede with
gradual flickerings, but disappeared in
a flash, as though something had in-
tercepted the visual field.

Panic stilled Armstrong’s heart
beats. His lean hands descended and
tightened on the arms of his chair.

The black vortex was a strange,
ghastly anomaly of space. It had been
seen in every region of the sky between
Jupiter and the solar disc. Moving
more swiftly than the receding suns of
outer space, it rushed with menacing

deviations through the gulfs between
the planets, cutting across innumerable
orbits and resisting the gravity tugs of
spinning worlds.

It had first appeared in the telescopes
of Earth in 1998. It had been viewed
from Mars and Venus in 2007. It had
completely baffled the astronomers,
and the astrophysicists. To the unedu-
cated it was not only baffling, but an
object of awe. When they thought of it
at all they thought of it with horror.
The intrepid pilots of the spaceways re-
garded it grimly as a challenge, but to
the grossly superstitious it had already
become an object of worship.

In 2025 it had consumed the little
asteroid Ceres. In 2031 Eros had van-
ished into its black opacity. It was a
kind of cosmic eater. It consumed
whatever crossed its path. It had un-
doubtedly devoured hundreds of small
meteors and aerolites.

It appeared merely as a funnel-
shaped smudge in the sky. Its outer
surfaces dimly reflected light, but it
was only clearly visible when it ap-
peared in black silhouette against the
fiery disc of the sun. It was larger
than any of the inner planets, but con-
siderably smaller, than Saturn or
Uranus. Though it had passed within
a few million miles of the solar orb its
bulk had survived unscathed in prox-
imity to the withering incandescence
of the photosphere.

Speculations as to its nature by the
learned and the unlearned were as in-
genious as they were sterile. Stock-
bridge, the American astrophysicist,
was unable to comprehend how any
body possessing density and mass
could remain, immune to gravity.

Seaton, of the California Institute,
thought that it was a little burnt-out
sun no bigger than Van Maanen’s star
which had strayed by chance within
the sun’s gravitational field and re-
sisted that field by some hitherto un-
fathomed idiosyncrasy of space-curva-
ture.

Darrow, of Cambridge, was of the
opinion that it was a mass of potential
energy which had not as yet begun to
disintegrate in response to the second
law of thermodynamics, and that such
primal Universe substance was per-

108

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

haps capable of absorbing solid bodies
much as an amoeba absorbs small par-
ticles of food. In elaborating his theo-
ries he pointed out that nearly complete
weightlessness might very well be
another characteristic of such a primi-
tive mass of energy-matter.

But to Kenneth Armstrong sitting
rigid and white with terror in his metal
chair abstract theories were of scant
comfort. In less than thirty seconds
he would know more about the con-
struction and attributes of the vortex
than all the scientists on Earth. In
less than thirty seconds the ghastly
anomaly of space would suck his
midget craft swiftly and terribly into
its black maw.

Nothing could save him. Old Caxton
would have shrieked for braking had
braking been feasible. Even if he
throttled all the blast engines the little
ship would continue its furious plunge
to destruction. To strip off a single
fuel-sheet, to change the course of the
vessel a fraction of a spatial winge was
a task impossible of accomplishment in
so short a time.

S UDDENLY he became curiously
calm. Some hidden reservoir of
strength deep within his body poured
revivifying fluids into his blooi He
swung about until he was facing the
control panel and the little ticking
clock as his base. In less than a rninute
now the white, sea-splendid city of his
birth would release its pent-up ener-
gies with a blare of trumpets and
multisonous paeans to Time’s new
dawn. And somewhere in that im-
mense metropolis a slim, pale girl,
eagerly scanning skies flecked with
stars and misty nebulae, ^would be-
lieve herself one with him in spirit de-
spite the sundering void.

When he thought of Corrine Clark
despair and agony flooded his being,
dissipating the brave impassiveness of
an instant before. Slowly the muscles
of his face began to twitch.

The change occurred while he was
watching the second hand of the little
clock. He suddenly saw not one clock,
but ten. The ten clocks in reverse,
with twenty smaller clocks right side
up on the panel below the inverted

clocks. Then the lowermost row of lit-
tle clocks reversed itself too.

The control panel altered appall-
ingly. Originally an uncurved surface
it became suddenly concavo-convex.
The complex curray of dials and levers
receded sharply as the top of the panel
blurred.

The next instant Armstrong became
aware of a startling change in himself.
As the central portion of the control
panel retreated his body lengthened.
Lengthened hideously and unevenly,
his right leg seemed to melt arid flow
away in the direction of the panel.

The right side of his body under-
went a less pronounced but frightening
change. It slowly swelled, then receded
jerkily from his waist to his toes. He
saw his right foot a yard, then three
yards and finally ten yards away. His
left leg became a thin, wavering fila-
ment that extended through arid far
far beyond the now hideously distorted
control panel into a region of cascading
light.

All the familiar dimensions altered
shockingly. The control panel became
a thin, transparent shell with curling
and unstable edges. Its malformed ap-
purtenances glimmered in rapidly re-
ceding outline against a vast field of
pulsing light.

He saw his deft foot as a tiny black
blob at the end of a wavering thread
of blackness and his right, swollen to
five or six times its natural size, as a
melon-shaped mass against this pul-
sating glpw.

He was conscious of a directional
change also; His body seemed to re-
volve without movement and he had
the ghastly and utterly inexplicable
feeling that he was gazing in several
directions at the same time and even
moving simultaneously backward and
forward and around and around in a
kind of rhythmic waltz.

The ghastly change was mercifully
of short duration. Almost immedi-
ately the distorted and distended out-
lines of the control panel and his im-
evenly elongated body contracted into
patterns of geometric sanity and gradu-
ally resumed their original contours.

The unfathomable region of pulsing
light vanished cuid the panel shed its

THE BLACK VORTEX

109

transparency. It became a black ob-
long covered with dials and levers and
little glistening knobs. The small
clock at its base repented of its wild
and vagrant multiplicity and settled
down into the humdrum existence of an
ordinary timepiece.

F IOR an instant Armstrong remained
facing the controls, staring at the
restored and familiar switchboard in a
kind of trance. Then terror flooded his
•being. With a cry he sprang from the
metal chair and stared wildly about
him.

Nothing had altered. Floor, walls
and ceiling were unchanged. The cold
light lamps cast a steady greenish radi-
ance on familiar metal surfaces studded
with triangular bolts and brightly il-
lumined the unmodified array of
glittering and complicated mechanisms
as the base of the control panel.

Armstrong’s knees began to shake a
little. He gripped the back of the
slightly vibrating chair and stood for
an instant in an attitude of sagging in-
credulity. Something had occurred
that was both frightening and terrible.
The actual integrity of his physical
being had been assailed.

He hadn’t imagined it. There was no
possibility of his having imagined it.
For a brief instant of time, within that
little space craft, the solid walls of his
fleshy tenement had dissolved and
everything about him had responded to
some hideous subversion of natural
law.

It was an appalling thought, with im-
plications so fearful that he was reluc-
tant to dwell upon them. Though he
was shaken to the core of his being,
familiar habits of thought and action
swiftly reasserted themselves. He must
find out immediately what had hap-
pened, must ascertain the Typhoon’s
position in space.

Quickly he reascended into the re-
volving chair and manipulated the rhe-
ostat which controlled the rear obser-
vation window. With a slight rustling
the opaque covering screen withdrew,
revealing a bright surface of translu-
cent glass.

Filling all the skies beyond the win-
dow, glowing frostily against the ebon

void, shone the familiar constellations
— Cygnus and Capricornus and bright
Andromeda, the triple tails of mighty
Camelopardalis, Lyra and the golden
splendor of Cepheus’ gothic tower
etched in glimmering relief against a
background of diffuse and mebulous
suns.

And there, too, was tiny Mars, glow-
ing ruddily between the inconceivably
remote and stupendous suns, traveling
serenely in her little orbit about the
sun. Far behind her the last fading
vestiges of the receding asteroids cast
a ghostly radiance athwart her ellipti-
cal course.

The little clock at the base of the
control panel had ticked off old Cax-
ton’s thirty seconds and three full mi-
nutes in addition, and yet the Typhoon
was still roaring evenly through the
black ether gulfs toward the terrestrial
globe. Toward white cities and green
fields and the deep blue of summer
skies.

Overwhelming relief pervaded Arm-
strong’s being as he contemplated the
miraculous constancy of the star-
flecked skies behind him. Mars had
actually shifted its position a few de-
grees and there was a slight difference
in the alignment of the nearer constel-
lations, but he failed to notice these
subtle deviations as he freed the throt-
tled blast engines <md released fuel-
sheet after fuel-sheet into the combus-
tion chambers at their base.

M OOL, the leader mental, sat
quietly in his cushioned chair,
his thin, flaccid hands limply extended
on the circular metal table before him.
His great, heavily-veined and entirely
hairless head was thrust slightly for-
ward on his scrawny neck, in an atti-
tude of resentful contentiousness.

His shriveled face was pallid and
drawn with pain. Directly before him
in a circular, mirrorlike device no
larger than a pumpkin a face very like
his own stared severely into his nar-
rowed and heavy-lidded eyes.

The face was a three-dimensional
image. Under a tiny, upturned nose
huge, swollen lips, purplish in hue, ad-
dressed withdrawn and dangerous
Mool, the dominant leader mental, in

110

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

accents of reproach.

“Your nerve degeneration test
showed a deficiency of fat-soluble 77.
It is a grave condition. The slightest
over-exertion will bring on symptoms
of incoordination, and spasms.”

Slowly Mod’s own immense lips
moved.

“Sulu,” he said, addressing the
image. “I wish to forget for a moment
that you are my medical adviser. I
did not summon you to discuss my
health. I am three hundred and ten
years of age. At my age pain is an in-
separable accompaniment of breath-
ing.”

Sulu frowned grimly. The veins on
his hollow temples stood out in vivid
relief against the pallor of his skin. He
looked like the shriveled mummy of
some hydrocephalic idiot that had re-
sisted the twin blights of mindlessness
and the tomb by gruesomely maintain-
ing, in a desiccated, repulsive tene-
ment of flesh, a kind of vampirish vi-
tality that was indifferent to the in-
roads of time.

“My body is of small importance,
Sulu,” resumed Mool. “Only thought
is eternal. The wretched Manuals
are concerned with the vagaries of
their intestines, but we need not ape
their primitiveness.”

“Why did you summon me?” said
Sulu, impatiently. “You are behaving
primitively when you ignore or sneer
at my warnings.”

On all Earth no other man would
have dared address Mool- in such a
tone. But Sulu was a renowned healer
and hence peculiarly indispensable. He
had also passed so completely beyond
personal desire that he scorned the re-
prisals of his kind. Life was still ten-
uously amusing to him, but so was the
prospect of annihilation. He would
have ^ughed at threats of exile.

Mool scowled ; shook his immense,
blue-veined head in negation.

“I want to talk to you about the un-
specialized man,” he said.

Sulu’s mummylike face brightened
with sudden interest.

“Ah, yes, I understand. He is the
most stupendous challenge that the
modern world has known. Think of it
-r-we now actually possess a living ex-

ample of human life in completely un-
differentiated form.” 5

Mool seemed to disapprove of the
other’s fervor.

“There is much that we do not know
about the mental life of primitive
man,” he said, “but his anatomical
structure was quite plainly the result
of unselective mating. All fossil speci-
mens show the same characteristics as
this new specimen. The fact that he
is alive is of course of great signifi-
cance. But it is not exactly a chal-
lenge.”

“But it is,” protested Sulu, with a
writhing of his monstrous lips. “He
may die at any moment. At present he
is in a state bordering on delirium.
Frightened. Terribly, shockingly
frightened.”

M ool slowly nodded and his
purplish lips writhed, emitting
curious sibilants arid queer, labial diph-
thongs which harmonized almost mus-
ically with the rhythms of his -speech.

“We have now definitely determined
that the fossil type to which he belongs
dates back fifteen million years. The
spatial rent which engulfed him appar-
ently held him suspended in a kind of
super-dimensional vacuum while mil-
lenniums rushed past in the Universe
outside.

“This of course completely confirms
our recent speculations as to the nature
and origin of the spatial rent. The rent
is simply a tiny, shifting air-pocket on
the surface of the expanding, four-di-
mensional Universe which leads into
another, higher dimension. The air-
pocket shifts erratically about on the
surface of our swelling, ‘bubble’ Uni-
verse, just as any small defect in an
unstable and mucilaginous mass will
alter its position under the impetus of
expansion.

“For millions of years the rent has
followed and adhered to that particular
segment or fold of the space-time con-
tinuum which contains the Solar Sys-
tem, appearing in our skies as a whirl-
ing, dark smudge and rushing at
inconceivable velocities across the or-
bits of the planets. We know that the
rent engulfs all objects which cross its
path. Within the lifetimes- of living

THE BLACK VORTEX

111

men it has devoured dozens of little as-
teroids. Apparently the swallowed
objects are caught up in a kind of slow
energy drift, or fifth dimensional limbo
beyond the Universe of stars and nebu-
lae and automatically ejected into the
fullness of time.”

Mool ceased speaking and sat an in-
stant immersed in thought.

“I am about to receive a report on the
dawn man, Sulu,” he said at last. “I
may want you to subject him to addi-
tional tests. Kalu is now making blood
and epithelium tests in the Malawana
laboratories at Keisen. When these are
completed we shall study his mental
and emotional reactions. The primi-
tives of his epoch were skilled mechan-
ically, but they killed one another like
savage beasts in Rerce tribal feuds
which drenched the continents in
blood. They mated without thought
for the future.

“When viewed without sentimental
bias even their mechanical achieve-
ments were of a low order — chiefly in-
genious vehicles for transporting their
primitive bodies from one portion of
the earth to another, and an infinite
variety of weapons for destroying
these aimlessly transported bodies on
land and sea.”

“Might it not be wiser to isolate him
for a few days at Malawana before we
attempt further tests?” asked Sulu.

“I will decide that when I receive
Kalu’s report,” said Mool. “I am about
to block you out, Sulu.”

Mool’s flaccid hand went out again,
manipulated the contr^ol knob. In-
stantly Sulu’s three-dimensional image
vanished from the recording instru-
ment. Mool sat staring for an instant
gloomily at the glowing metallic wall
directly opposite him. The small,
metal chamber in which he was sitting
was illumined by a pale violet radiance
which streamed in diffuse beams from
its walls and ceiling.

From that tiny, glowing chamber
Mool spoke in accents of command to
all the great dominant leader mentals.
From his immense and veined skull
emanated the directional flow of ac-
tivities infinitely complex and stupen-
dous in their ramifications.

On all Earth’s continents millions of

toiling Manuals obeyed his imperious
social will. With a single word he could
silence the hum of mile-high cities and
even still the ceaseless throbbings of
the Cyclopean black power turbines at
the southern pole.

Slowly his fingers moved on the
knob again. There arose a brief, vibra-
tory humming as another monstrous
face filled the recording apparatus.
This time the image spoke without
waiting for Mool to address it.

“I have tragic news,” said the image,
its lips writhing. “The dawn man is a
malignant carrier. I have discovered
in his tissues, in latent form, the germs
of the yellow and black scourges.

B ESPITE his impassivity Mool’s
hideous features whitened a lit-
tle. His lips jerked.

“Then we must destroy him, Kalu.
It is regrettable, but we must kill him
immediately. Our race is no longer
even coihparatively immune to the yel-
low scourge. If the plague should gain
headway among us it would depopu-
late the continents.”

“But perhaps we can destroy the
germs by exposing his body to short-
wave vibrations,” suggested Kalu. “If
we gave him an artificial fever: — ”
“No,” Mool cut in. “It’s too risky.
We must kill him at once.”

“But I am reluctant to—”

“My orders, Kalu. Kill him.”

The image nodded slowly and waited
with sorrowing eyes for Mool to block
him out. This Mool presently did, with
a little shudder.

Kalu shuddered, too, in distant Kei-
san; Across the immense Malawana
laboratories he moved on his feeble,
reedlike legs toward the pathetically
helpless captive from the dawn world
who lay imprisoned a short distance
away. ,

The emaciated and unclad figure of
Kenneth Armstrong was l)dng on a
sloping stone slab at the base of an
enormous cylinder of gleaming metal.
His arms and legs were securely pin-
ioned to the supporting slab by narrow
copper bands. His head was lolling in
lax agony.

Above him, glittering, alien shapes
towered. There were immense glass

112

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

coils pulsing with colored lights, silver
white cones which revolved in seg-
ments, enorrnous, translucent globes
filled with green and purple fluids, re-
torts and condensers and incomprehen-
sible shapes of flame.

Kalu was instinctively humane. He
did not wish to destroy the brave little
voyager from man’s primitive past
who had blundered by accident or de-
sign into the infinitely complex world
of the large-brained Mentals. But
Mool’s decisions could not be ques-
tioned. Mool’s will was a kind jof so-
cial absolute, a magnified embodiment
of millions of subordinate wills pulsing
in harmony with his own.

Slowly and reluctantly Kalu gripped
a horizontal support and drew himself
up till the larger portion of his shriv-
eled body rested on a circular disc at
the base of the enormous cyclinder.
From where he rested he could see the
prostrate body of the dawn man on the
tilted slide a few feet away. The great
shining tube contained the primary
coil of a high-voltage oscillator.

The immense glass plate condenser
at its summit was charged to a poten-
tial of five million electron volts. When
this tremendous potential was dis-
charged through the spark gap at its
base the tube coil would begin to os-
cillate, swiftly building up a pressure
of twenty million electron volts.

Kalu intended to bombard the pin-
ioned man on the slide with a continu-
ous stream of high-voltage projectiles.
In the space of a few short seconds he
intended to shatter the atomic struc-
ture of the dawn man’s body com-
pletely, reducing it to a tumultuous
field of disorganized electrons and fin-
ally to nothing at all.

The dawn man was writhing franti-
cally. His body was agonizingly arched
on the tilted slab. As he strained
against his bonds in a frantic effort to
free himself his face slowly turned the
hue of blood.

Kalu pitied him to the depths of his
being. The groans which poured in a
voluble stream from his lips were in-
finitely heartrending. But there was
nothing that Kalu could do to ease the
dawn man’s torment. The torment was
entirely inental, apparently.

T he dawn man was in the grip of
an overwhelming terror. Appar-
ently his brain was slightly awry. His
eyes had a tragically haunted look.
Kalu had noted several curious devia-
tions of behavior while taking blood
and epithelium tests. Well, it was un-
derstandable. The poor wretch was
hopelessly adrift in time, millenniums
removed from his kind. Perhaps Mool’s
insistence on extinction was merciful
after all.

No use prolonging it, he told himself.
In five seconds there would be no tor-
mented human figure on the slide if he
steeled himself and did what he had to
do.

Slowly his nearly fleshless arm ap-
proached the isolated spindle gauge
which controlled the primary circuit
of the immense apparatus. As soon as
his flaccid hands encountered the gauge
his tremulous indecision vanished. He
became all at once a god of the ma-
chine. The mere contact of his en-
feebled frame with the cold, controlling
mechanism of so vast a source of en-
ergy destroyed the human side of his
nature until a vast impersonality en-
gulfed him. '

With a slight movement of his thumb
and forefinger he manipulated the little
gauge. Instantly millions of volts of
searing, blinding energy ripped the
wave packets from the lower extremity
of the tube and blasted the nuclei of all
the atoms in its path.

The stupendous downsurge of en-
ergy transmuted every inanimate sub-
stance beneath it in a flash. The slab
vanished as terrific oscillations hurtled
millions of electron volts across a cir-
cumscribed area of empty space to-
ward, the high voltage resonance coils
at the base of the mighty apparatus.

The slab vanished, but the body of
the dawn man did not. Freed of its sup-
port it remained for an instant miracu-
lously suspended in midair between the
blinding flare of the oscillator coil in
the cylinder and the crackling lumin-
escence of the coils beneath.

Horror engulfed Kalu’s stunned
faculties as he stared at the incredible
phenomenon. The dawn man was re-
sisting an unheard of voltage with
every atom of his incredibly sus-

THE BLACK VORTEX

113

pended being, retaining integrity of
form despite a surge of energy suffi-
ciently potent to blast a channel in the
earth.

The resonance coils threw the sear-
ing energy projectiles back against the
tube’s mighty base, passing them
through the wavering and suspended
body of the dawn man in reverse.
Kalu’s heavy-lidded eyes bulged in
their fleshy sockets. Something was
happening to the suspended figure now,
but it was not the anticipated blurring
of dissolution.

The dawn man’s body was slowly
and hideously lengthening. It extended
itself beyond the fiery electron volt dis-
charge and then receded jerkily from
its waist to its toes. The next instant
it altered shockingly all over and all
at once. It became a thing of incred-
ible dimensions, of swiftly expanding
and receding contours. Its lines and
angles seem to dilate and coalesce at
geometrically impossible tangents.

Presently it shed its unity. Staring
in terror Kalu saw two distorted bodies
suspended in the blinding flare of kin-
etic high-voltage. Then three bodies.
Each horizontally suspended between
the oscillator coils of searing radiance
and each distorted incredibly.

K ALU’S little shriveled hands
clenched tightly. For seconds
that seemed to lengthen into tmimag-
inable eternities the three images
remained horizontally afloat in the
flame-wrapped void between the oscil-
lators. Then they dimmed and vanished
into nothingness.

Instinctively, in a kind of trance,
Kalu raised his flaccid nerveless hand
and shut oil the searing, stupendous
surge of radiations. As the crackling
tube-flare dimmed to a misty flickering
and then vanished he swayed a little in
sick reaction; then sat without further
movement. But though his wasted
body remained quiescent his immense
brain was engaged in the wildest spec-
ulations.

Something utterly unfathomable had
occurred in the void between the im-
mense cylinder and the oscillator coils.
The dawn man had succumbed unmis-
takably to the terrific bombardment of

radiant force. But something terrify-
ing had occurred that he must tell Mool
about. He must talk to Mool at once.

As he sat there white and shaken two
tall Manuals entered the laboratory
and advanced across the floor toward
him. Their immense and supple hands
were as infinitely complex and repul-
sive as the swollen, blue-veined heads
of the Mentals. Millenniums of human
specialization directed and conditioned
by specialized techniques had endowed
the Manuals with peculiar stigmata
which limited their social functioning
but enormously increased their effici-
ency as machine tenders.

Their hands were eight-digited, and
so huge that they seemed to dwarf the
bodies to which they were attached.
As they approached the disc where
Kalu was sitting their little, nearly
hairless heads bobbed loathsomely
about in the shadow of the high-volt-
age generator. Unobtrusively and in
utter silence they started cleaning and
oiling the vast array of coils, pistons
and rotating mounts at the base of the
immense machine.

K enneth Armstrong en-
tered the Clark farmhouse
through the'’ kitchen, stopped a minute
to help himself to a snack consisting of
cold chicken wing and mince pie from
the ice-box and then stamped down a
long hall to the small sun-parlor where
Corrine Clark was waiting for him.
His heavy boots were mud-encrusted,
and lip above theih as far as his chin
there spread an expanse of very soiled,
very faded denim.

Kenneth Armstrong looked like a
rosy-cheeked country bumpkin fresh
from his rustic rounds at eventide. His
unruly hair and all-engulfing smock-
like garment added a comic note. In
his right hand he held a large red
apple. Smiling broadly, he extended
the apple toward Corrine Clark on his
palm.

“For teacher,’’ he said.

Corrine Clark smiled. She took the
apple and dropped it into the pocket
of her gingham apron.

“I don’t want to eat that just now,”
she said. “I want to talk to you. Dad
says you’re a natural farmer. How do

114

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

you like helping with the chores?’’
“It’s one way of passing the time,’’
said Armstrong, settling himself com-
fortably in the snug embrasure of a
window seat and drawing his future
wife down beside him. “But I won’t
pretend I don’t miss the dangers and
uncertainties of the spaceways. Some-
how I feel as though I had actually left
a part of myself out in space.”

Corrine’s smile increased in volume.
“Really, what a strange notion.”
“Yes, isn’t it. But you know, I ac-
tually did pass through the vortex.
Caxton confirmed that when I got him
on the visual receptor again. And I’ve
told you what a queer sensation I had
when I passed through, how the little
clocks multiplied and my body seemed
to lengthen and shoot off in various di-
rections. Well, just suppose— just sup-
pose the vortex multiplied me, too.
Now wait a minute until I explain.

“Suppose the atoms of our bodies,
about which we know so little, could
be multiplied indefinitely. When an
amoeba divides we have two perfect
amoebae, each exactly alike. For the
sake of analogy, suppose my body were
composed of millions of amoebae and
that each of these little organisms de-
cided' to divide at a given instant of
time. All together, you understand.
Simultaneously, like a thunderclap.
There’d be two mes, wouldn’t there?

“Now, suppose that under certain
conditions atoms can rnultiply by fis-
sion like single-celled organisms. Isn’t
it just barely conceivable that the vast
complex of atoms composing my body
would produce two identical mes if
they all divided at the same time?”
“Whatever gave you such an idea?”
“The fact that the little clocks divid-
ed, I suppose. I got to thinking about
that. The vortex isn’t a solid body. We
know that now. The fact that I passed
completely through it has given the
astronomers something to think about.

“Suppose the vortex is a sort of vac-
uum or negative flux of force in space
where atoms just facilely divide by bi-
nary fission, just split up into complete
new units impossible to distinguish as
parents and offspring. Suppose that
within the vortex the ordinary laws of
physics are in abeyance.

“Something pretty strange happened-
to me inside the vortex. Perhaps the
distortion which so frightened me, the
sudden lengthening and swelling of my
limbs was caused by another me pop-
ping off. Splitting up and popping off.
Perhaps I was giving birth by fission
to a kind of atomic ghost or twin.

“W^ERHAPS one of these fission-
MT born replicas of the ship and my-
self popped right through the vortex
and returned to Earth, while the other
was sucked deep within its depths and
carried into another time or another
space. Perhaps somewhere in the
depths of the vortex there is another
Kenneth Armstrong — a Kenneth Arm-
strong composed of fission-born atoms
—sharing all the thoughts and emo-
tions, as well as the physical attributes
of your future husband.

“I have often thought that if we were
capable of disrupting the nucleus of an
atom by high-voltage bombardment
soniething extraordinary and, totally
unexpected might occur. It might dis-
integrate by exploding or it might sim-
ply split up into two or more identical
shell-patterns or ghost atoms. It’s a
curious fancy, but perhaps if some
force assailed the original integrity of
an atom and stripped off one of its
‘ghosts’ it might be capable of giving
off ghosts indefinitely, peopling the
Universe with replicas of itself.”
Corrine Clark laughed. “It’s the
craziest idea I’ve ever heard of,” she,
said. “I can’t imagine how you ever
came to think of it.”

“I expect it was just a wish-fulfill-
ment fantasy,” said Armstrong. “Every
man likes to feel that he has a free un-
trammeled ghost psyche somewhere, a
double that is not Earthbotmd.”

Corrine Clark pouted,

“Earthboundl Oh, you wretch. So
you want to be off and away.”

“I didn’t mean that exactly,” said
Armstrong. “If such a ‘ghostly’ Ken-
neth Armstrong exists, I wouldn’t be in
his shoes for anything.”

Before she could protest or accuse
him again he put his arms about her,
drew her gently toward him and si-
lenced her rebukes with kisses so fer-
vent that they left her gasping.

Science Questions
and Answers

T his department is conducted for the benefit of readers who have per-
tinent queries on modern scientific facts. As space is limited, we can-
not undertake to answer more than three questions for each letter. The
flood of correspondence received makes it impractical, also, to promise an
immediate answer in every case. However, questions of general interest
will receive careful attention.

RADIATION IN PLANTS

Editor, Science Questions and Answers:

I have a plant, a hyacinth, whose root tips
glow faintly in the dark. Is this only my imag-
ination, or is there an explanation for it? Is it
perhaps “cold fire”?

L. V.,

New York City, N. Y.

It is rather doubtful that the plant ^emits
light of any sort. It may be due to particles
of punk buried in the earth in which the plant
exists, the “fox-fire.”

The 30-caUed “cold fire” or “cold light,”
as exhibited by fireflies, glow worms, light
chafers, etc., is produced by the digestive
processes in the body. It is a strictly chem-
ical reaction whereby an enzyme (a ferment)
acts upon a special secretion, to give out visi-
ble radiation.

This “biolumineseence” is far more effi-
cient than mankind’s electric lights. Many
deep-sea fish have this natural lighting sys-
tem, .down where the sun never reaches.

The hyacinth mentioned above is a bulbous-
rooted plant. By coincidence, however, an-
other bulbous plant, the onion, is known to
give off a strange radiation. It is not visible
however, being in the ultra-violet range. Rus-
sian and German biologists have reported
these rays, and claim that they are closely
related to the life principle in some way, for
other plants exposed to these radiations, faint
though they are tend to grow faster. Even
bacteria grow faster under their influence.
The phenomenon has not as yet been fully in-
vestigated. — Ed.

TIDAL CAUSES

Editor, Science Questions and Answers:

Does the moon produce the ocean’s tides
alone, or does the sun have an effect also? Are
the waves caused in any way by the sun or
moOn?

A. O. K.,

Birmingham, Alabama.

Waves are not connected with tidal phenom-
ena in any way. They are purely dependent
on atmospheric and underwater conditions.

Ocean tides, occurring twice daily all hver
the world on all seacoasts, are a combination
of the sun’s and moon’s gravitational effects.
The moon, since it is so much nearer, un-
doubtedly has the most to do with them.

“Flood-tides,” the rise of tides, reach their
highest ranges when the moon is new or full.
In other words, when the moon and sun are
in. a line with Earth, thus exerting a greater
combined influence. At full moon, when the
Earth is between, the effect is nearly the same
as when the sun and moon are both above. In
the former case the sun and moon pull the
tides upward at opposite sides of Earth. In
the latter case, they pull at one end, and by
the laws of mechanics, the other end rises of
itself. When the moon is at its quarters, the
tide is lowest (neap-tides), for the reason that
sun and moon exert right-angular, opposing
influences.

However, there are not two separate tides,
one each for sun and moon. There is but one
general tide. This is because the oceans act
as complete entities under the influence of
extra-terrestrial forces. The separate, and
sometimes opposing, forces of sun and moon
combine in the fluid oneness of an ocean to
produce a mean (average) tidal effect.

Not only does the line-up of sun and moon
(at new or full moon) produce greater tides
(8 to 3 ratio), but even the moon’s change of
distance from Bajth has its effect. At perigee
(nearest position) the moon has a 20%
greater effect on the tides.

Obviously, the high-water rec.ords occur
when , the new moon (on the same side as the
sun) is at perigee. — Ed.

ORIGIN OF LIFE

Editor, Science Questions and Answers:

I have searched through some books but have
never found the answer to this: after the earth
cooled, how did life begin?

J. B.,

Chicago, 111.

This is one of the enigmas of nature. One
can only look over the various theories pro-
pounded on the question and take a choice.
Kelvin, Helmholtz, Richter and Arrhenius
believe life came from outer space in the
form of spores or hardy germs embedded in
meteorites, or wafted along in cosmic dust.
Abiogenesis, or spontaneous generation, pos-
tulates that living cells arose from carbo-
naceous, colloidal slime activated by ferments.
The theory of metallic photocatalysis pre-
sumes that metallic substances transferred
the energy of light to carbonized water, form-
ing formaldehyde, which in turn could con-
llfi

116

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

dense with ammonium nitrite (formed by the
action of lightning on nitrogen in the air) to
form nitrogen compounds, or amino-aci&s,
which are the basis of protoplasm. The elec-
tro-chemical interpretation of life assumes
that sohie mysterious radiation, perhaps the
cosmic rays, acted on natural organic com-
pounds such as nitrogenous oils to form the
radipgens, the “spark of life.”

The spore theory of Arrhenius is evasive;
it does not explain Where life started. Abio-
genesis does not stand up since it has never
been observed to happen in recorded times.
Photosynthesis has been tried in the labora-
tory, with no worthwhile results, though
nothing seems to be lacking. And the electro-
chemical theory falls short for all these rea-
sons.

Thus the answer still is — ‘ ‘ Who knows ? ’ ’ —
Bd.

PETRIFACTION

Editor, Science Questions and Answers:

What exactly is petrifaction? I believe all
fossils are a result of that process, but wonder
how it happened.

J. L.,

Gary, Indiana.

Petrifaction is simply the substitution of
the organic substance of once-living matter
by the inorganic, atom by atom. As 'a mole-
cule of wood or bone decays; a molecule of
stone takes its place. This can only occur
when the air, earth, or water surrounding the
organic substance holds in solution some
readily precipitated mineral. Also the decay-
ing matter must not waste away too rapidly,
or there will be no chance for deposition of
minerals. Plesh, for instance, cannot petrify.
Bone and wood are the most common ex-
amples, exemplified by fossils and petrified
forests.

If it weren’t for the phenomenon of petri-
faction, we would be totally ignorant of evo-
lution and all previous life, for our entire
groundwork of the study of the past is in
fossils. Limestone caverns, pitch pits, stag-
nant pools, sudden avalanches, etc., have pre-
served for us a record of the past, buried un-
der heaps of dirt and stone. Petrifaction has
left for us, in enduring stone, a surprisingly
detailed story of the long past. — Ed.

WHERE DOES LIGHT GO?

Editor, Science Questions and Answers:

You will probably consider this a scientific
“poser,” but what happens to the light of the
stars? If it goes on and on, it must eventually
reach the end of space, if there is an end, and
then what?

s. w,

Dallas, Texas.

We will' attempt to answer this question
by analogy. We cannot presume to know
more than the cosmogonists, who readily ad-
mit they have found no end to the universe
so far. The late school of astro-physicists
talk of a finite, yet boundless space. Ein-
stein talks of curved space, and the eventual
return of a light ray after many eons upon
eons.

However, it .is likely that a light ray; has
no chance to reach an ‘ ‘ end ’ ’ or come back
to the beginning. This is presumed from the
evidence that our galaxy, in .common, with
many others, is enveloped in nebulous' mate-
rial which is able to scatter light and even-
tually absorb -it. The nebulosity is not visi-
ble to us, it is so fine and tenuous. The spec-
troscope gives evidence of its existence, in
that the bulk of nearer stars have on the av-
erage a more reddish spectrum. This means
refraction and absorption of starlight coming
to U3,*and that -means some medium causing
it, which is probably nebular matter.

Other things point to this supposition. The
“zodiacal light,” which is a background to
the sun’s corona in an eclipse, may be reflec-
tion from this material. Again the ‘ ‘ Gegen-
sehein” or counter glow, opposite the new
moon may be the sun’s reflection on this
backdrop of wispy nebulosity.

It used to be thought, in connection with
this, that as we reached out some 100,000 light
years with our telescopes, the stars got thin;
ner and thinner, and that perhaps ten or
more times that far away was blank, space.
The present belief is that it is not a lack of
stars but the scattering and absorption of
these weak rays in our own nebulous veil
which surrounds us. It has even been conjec-
tured that if our eyes were not hindered' at
all— if space were absolutely clear — the sky
would be almost . a continuous blaze of light
from the countless suns and galaxies in the
limitless universe. — ^Ed.

BALL LIGHTNING

Editor, Science Questions and Answers:

What is the “lightning ball”? A friend of
mine claims to have seen one. He said it
climbed down a tree, like a squirrel, ripped half
the bark off, then exploded oii the ground with
a loud noise.

E. W,

Binghamton, N. Y.

The lightning ball is one of Nature’s great-
est freak phenomena. Its occurrence is so
rare, and authentic reports so few, that next
nothing is known of it beyond the fact
that it is an electric charge and can do con-
siderable damage.

They seem always to float lightly, as though
independent of gravitation, and in some cases
do quite a bit of bouncing around, especially
inside a house. One more or less authentic ac-
count describes an eight-inch lightning ball
coming down the chimney and floating around
in the room six feet off the floor for a while.
Then it fell to the floor, rolled against the
wall, went through it by the simple process
of tearing a hole, and exploded out in the
yard, making a two-foot depression in the wet
ground.

The lightning ball must be classified as
static electricity, somehow stored as a charge
without the usual convenience of a Leyden
jar or condenser. Its erratic, counter-gravita-
tional behavior may be due to repulsion ef-
fects of Earth’s magnetic field. Being per-
haps a cloud of electrons, it would have no
appreciable weight, — Ed.

this department yre shall publish your opinions every month. After
all, this is YOUR magazine, and it is edited for YOU. If a story in
THRILLING WONDER STORIES fails to click with you, it is up to you
to let us know about it. We welcome your letters whether they are compli-
mentary or critical — or contain good old fashioned brickbats! Write regu-
larly! many of your letters as possible will be printed below. We can-
not undertake to enter into private correspondence.

WESSO WANTED

By James V. Taurasi

I have just finished the April issue of T.
W. S. and here is what I think of it.

The cov^r: Swell. This cover is the best
you have yet put out. Only please do not
spoil it by all that printing.

The stories: You are coming along very
good on your selection of stories. They
show a great improvement over your first
issues. The best story in this issue is “Elixir
'of Doom” by Ray Cummings. Mr. Cum-
mings has always been my best liked writer
and it sure is great to have him back. How
about getting Harl Vincent, another great
writer, for us? Next in line comes “The
Astounding Exodus” by Neil R. Jones. He
is a writer who can always give you adven-
ture and science in his stories. The only
story of his I did not like was" “Little Her-
cules.” The rest of the stories rank as fol-
lows: “The Invincible Midge,” “The Judg-
ment Sun” and “Flight of the Silver Eagle.”

Zamak: There seems to be a miniature

war going on about this cartoon strip. My
stand is: the story is too juvenile and car-
ries a familiar theme — but the drawing is
very good. Why not have the artist illus-
trate for some of the stories?

Inside illustrations: Marchioni seems to

be doing a fair job of it, but since you have
Wesso illustrating Scientifacts, why not the
stories? I think Wesso is one of the best
science fiction illustrators.

Keep up the good work, and when are
you going monthly? — 137-07 32. Avenue,
Flushing, New York.

(An Illustration by Wesso in this issue.
More coming! — Ed.)

A LONG CHAPTER

By Amelia Reynolds Long

I am herewith making a one hundred per
cent rating on the keeping of New Year’s
resolutions; namely, applying for member-
ship in the Science Fiction League. Inci-
dentally, it is one of the things that I have
intended doing for a long time; but with a
procrastinating disposition like mine, it al-
ways seemed to get side-tracked. It does
seem a trifle ridiculous that one who claims
to be a science fiction writer (God and the

editors willing) should not seize the oppor-
tunity to join science fiction’s own organi-
zation.

My congratulations to the new manage-
ment of WONDER for restoring it to its
full stature. It seemed for a time to be on a
too strenuous reducing diet. However, I
would like to see a few more stories on bio-
chemistry and its related subjects.

Is there by any chance a chapter of the
Science Fiction League in my locality, with
which I could become affiliated? If there is
not, would it be out of place for a female
member of an organization so nearly stag to
offer to organize one?

Best wishes for the League’s continued
progress and expansion. — 2036 N. Fifth
Street, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.,

(We are gratified by the interest of Miss
Long, a popular writer of science fiction. In
T.W.S. All readers residing in her vicinity
are urged to write to Miss Long for details
concerning the formation of a Chapter. — Ed.)

HE LIKES ZARNAK

By Lawrence Harrison

I am just a tramp mechanic with no steady
job or address, but I have a great liking for
science fiction; have been reading it since
1924 in one form or another, and since the
advent of T. W. S. have not missed a copy
even though the town I might happen to be
working in didn’t have a news or magazine
dealer.

Every story so far has been well worth
the time necessary for reading — but these
readers who want to change the mag and
drop certain departments are in the minor-
ity. Those of us who are satisfied seldom if
ever write in about anything — I am dissatis-
fied now; that. is why I write.

Some, I notice, rave on and oh wanting
serials. It’s too far between issues for that
type of story.

What is wrong with these Zamak knock-
ers? It is good illustrated science fiction —
but everyone doesn’t appreciate the difficulty
of illustrating things that are beyond the
common readers’ experience. More power
to this author.

If you want to make a change in anything,
just give Max Plaisted a couple more pages
117

118

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

to work on, and add a column to. The Reader
Speaks to list the names of his knockers.

I always read Zarnak first. — Marshalltown,
Iowa.

—AND HE DOESNTl

By Alva Thomson

I have just finished reading the April is-
sue of T. W. S., and I must say it’s great.
The cover illustration was excellent, and so
was the story portrayed, “Wanderer of the
Void.” You asked what kind of plot Zarnak
should be given. I think a nice 6x3 plot,
in the corner of a remote cemetery. “The
Judgment Sun” was a fine story. “The In-
vincible Midge” had a new twist and Paul
Ernst is to be congratulated. This is the
first magazine I have found worth writing
to. — ^206 West S2nd Street, New York City.

WHAT A WRITE^HINKS OF
S-F FANS!

By Arthur J. Burks

Here is something that may interest you.
Last night I was guest speaker at — guess
what? Los Angeles Chapter No. 4 of the
Science Fiction League, fathered, I believe, ,
by you’ns. And if anybody impugns the in-
telligence of pulp readers again, advise me
right away and I’ll sock ’em in the nose.
These youngsters, ranging in ages from
twelve to sixty, are keen as hell. What they
don’t know about science, today and tomor-
row, hasn’t been written yet. I suggested
we might think up a story for me to write
for T. W. S., and one youngster suggested a
time traveling story, where the hero goes
BACKWARD into the future, that sounded
like a honey. It may be too tough for me to
write, but I’ll probably try it later. They
get together twice a month, and they’re
rabid fans. .One lady asked me if I thought
science stories too trashy for young folks
to read, and the rest of ’em sort of snowed
her under before I could answer, though I
tried my best. I recommended ’em. They
wanted to know all about covers, and black
and white drawings, and a lot of other things
I couldn’t tell ’em. Tell your writers to take
a tip if they are ever asked to talk at this
League of your’n : to have all the answers at
their fingertips, for these buzzards KNOW.

Forrest J. Ackerman, a fashion-plate of
tvventy or so, asked me over and sprung me
as a surprise on ’em. Reeled off the titles
of stories I had done during the past ten
years. Someone asked me about one I’d
published about ten or eleven years ago. So,
thinks I, they don’t forget, so it sort of be-
hooves us scribblers and publishers to stick
close to these’ns. They do everything but
eat the covers when the mags come out.
They have stills from the _ latest fantastic
pictures, and, boy, do they rip movie boners
apart! What I mean is, they’re darned seri-
ous about the League, its future, what the
mags are doing and going to do. If there’s
anything in the mags they miss, I don’t
know what- it is. They even had copies of

American Magazine twenty-four years old,
wherein there was a serial called “Angel
Island.”

They meet in the Little Brown Room of
the Clifton Cafeteria, 648 South Broadway,
and as I said before, they’re keen, and they
know all the answers — especially the ones
you don’t know, dam ’em. 868 South Har-
vard Boulevard, Los Angeles, California.

(We know Arthur J. Burks never Intended
this letter for publication. But we found it
so Interesting that we think it belongs right
here in The Reader Speaks. And here’s hop-
ing the Los Angeles Chapter can coax Burks
Into turning out a novelette for us. — Ed.)

ADVENTURE ELeI^NT LIKED

By P. Burgess

I have read the December and February
numbers of your new magazine, and, having
noted your request for letters from readers
airing their opinions, etc., I am writing in
accordingly. I must congratulate you on
your fine line-up for the above two numbers.

I think you have here the makings of a first-
class magazine so long as you do not allow
your writers to get too technical in their
writings. The stories in the two numbers I
have so far perused are mostly A-1, a nice
spice of adventure and enough but not too
much science. Having been a reader off and
on the old WONDER, I am glad to see the
new THRILLING WONDER STORIES
and consider it in .every way a marked im-
provement on the old.

The December number was O. K. The
cover was good, whoever your cover artist
may be, and Marchioni was at his best with
the inside work. Try and get Paul to help
Marchioni sometimes to add variety to the
style. The stories were fine. I particularly
enjoyed “The Lanson Screen,” by Zagat;
“Mutiny on Europa,” by Hamilton; “The
Island of Dr. X,” by Echols; “Saturn’s Ring-
master,” by Callun; “Earth-Venus 12,” by
Wilson; Cummings’ “Trapped in Eternity”;
Weinbaum’s “Brink of Infinity,” and Camp-
bell’s “Brain Stealers of Mars” were also
pleasing yams.

.. In the February number, the cover is good
and the inside illustrations Q. K. “Black
Fog,” by Wandrei, was in my opinion far
and away the best of the short stories, with
“The World in a Box,” by Jacobi, next.
“The Seeing Ear” was fair and “He Who
Masters Time” good till the last page, when
it became rather dull. “Brain of Venus,”
“Invaders from Outer Suns,” “The Ice En-
tity” and “Protoplasmic Station” were all
enjoyable reading.

I am pleased to see Ray Cummings back
in science fiction. Get him to give us a serial
in the near future — something like that ex-
cellent four-parter, “Wandl, the Invader,” or
a novelette on similar lines. I should also
like to see an occasional story by Charles
W. Diffin, S. P. Meek, Harl Vincent, Miles
Breuer, Clifford D. Simak, Sewell Peaslee
right, Edwin K. Sloat, R. F. Starzl, H. G.
Winter, Clark Ashton Smith, Manly Wade
Wellman, and Anthony Gilmore. Why not
try and get Gilmore to do us some of his

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

119

famous “Hawk Carse” stories? Also try
and.get Wright to come back with his “John
Hanson” yarns. 1 think that with the ac-
quisition of these two authors writing these
particular stories you would ensure yourself
the support of all the “Hawk Carse” and
“John Hanson” fans. You could at least try
out the idea for what it’s worth.

Don’t take too much notice of those read-
ers who clamor incessantly for more and
still more science in the stories. Every
reader who peruses science fiction is not nec-
essarily a scientific crank. There must be
a number of people who, like myself, read
science fiction for relaxation from the com-
mon type of fiction such as v/esterns, detec-
tive, love, etc. — in other words, people who
read science fiction because it is DIFFER-
ENT and offers a spice of variety. Too much
science in stories tends to make them dry
and difficult to read for persons who do not
have too good a knowledge or understanding
of scientific matters. So please don’t let
T. W. S. follow the example of another
magazine, which has practically sacrificed
the adventure element in its stories on the
altar of science, with the result that the
stories, though fairly good on the whole, are
stiU.not so good as they formerly were.

I don’t care for “Zarnak” and shall be glad
to see the end of it, and hope that when
“Zarnak” is finished these pages will be used
for story matter.

There is one thing I find lacking in inter-
planetary stories of late years. Atmosphere !
These tales seem utterly devoid of the sug-
gestion of sheer vastness, of the soul-sick-
ening loneliness of infinite space; of the
sense of utter isolation from the Earth and
remoteness from everything familiar to
Earthmen. Interplanetary tales are written
with too much matt'er-of-factness, as though
such things are an accomplished fact. In
these tales the planets are always already
settled by Terrestrials with Government
bases on each ; the spaceways marked out
and well-traveled; there is no sense of iso-
lation from Earth or the remoteness of the
distant planets. Edmond Hamilton had the
right idea when he mentioned the same mat-
ter in his “Story Behind the Story” article
in the December T. W. S.

Wishing you success during the coming
year! — 246 North Lane, Aldershot, Hants,
England.

FALLACIES IN SCIENCE FICTION

By Lloyd W. Sharp

I am accepting your invitation to express
a reader’s opinion of your magazine; but
since, at the same time, I aspire to a place
among your writers, perhaps it behooves me
to tread cautiously in the course of my criti-
cisms. Here goes:

The men who write for T. W. S. seem to
be a rather capable lot, and furnish really
good entertainment, albeit at the cost of an
occasional scientific ‘inaccuracy. But then,
Campbell has little 'respect for the musts and
(Continued on page 120)

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THRILLING WONDER STORIES

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(Continued from page 119)
mustn’ts of orthodox science, and he is one
of my favorites.

Inconsistency with fact is the thing I am
saddened most to see: time- travelers occupy-
ing two places at the same time — making
gold from nothing in defiance of the thor-
oughly proven Einstein relation (M = C^)
— ^impenetrable screens of energy with ships
sticking, through them— cathode rays travel-
ing long distances through air as de-phased
“static.’’^ These things damage the good
name of science fiction to an extent that can
hardly be estimated. It is especially sad
because the damage is wanton. (Tsk! If
you found similar inconsistencies in a story
of mine, would MY face be red!)

I can appreciate the difficulty you have
had in getting suitable material for your
magazine, what with the classical well of
Verne, Poe, Wells, Weinbaum, and Bur-
roughs having Irun practically dry. Men
with imagination, replete with scientific
knowledge, and possessed of an agile pen-
arm, are few and far between. I sincerely
hope that you will have better luck in search-
ing them out henceforth than you had in
the past few years.

Mr. Mallory’s suggestion for a series of
articles on telescope-making might be all
right, but it would be needless' repetition,
since the Scientific American has had that
situation well in hand for years. Warning:
the telescope-making bug is a disease of un-
controllable virility; and once started will
usurp pages and pages^of your magazine.
I speak as one who 'has been bitten hard
himself, so hard that a concrete base and a
Ford rear axle are needed to support the
monster. — Box 424, Concrete, Washington.

T.W.S. IS O.K. WITH HIM

By Robert Sherk

Before giving my opinion of the stories in
the April issue I wish to say that each copy
of T. W. S. is far better than the previous
one. The stories seem to contain a certain
something that is lacking in other mags.

The best story was “Flight of the Silver
Eagle,” by Arthur L. Zagat. He is your
finest and most consistently good writer —
hold on to him. Second best was Dr. Arch
iGarFs little gem, “Wanderer of the Void.”
This held my interest from the beginning by
the inimitable style of the author. Keep up
the high standards that you have set up in
this issue! — 119 Folger St., Buffalo, N. Y.

A HAGGARD FAN

By R. A. Squires /

All in all I was quite pleased with the
February issue. Keep improving at this rate
and by the end of the year — well, who can
tell what the future will bring?

This letter was really inspired by Mr.
Haggard’s story, “He Who Masters Time.”
In fact, I liked it so much that I wrote to
the author and personally thanked him for
it. Every once in a while a story appears

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

121

that shows an error in all other stories of
the same type. And this was one of them.
No other author has ever, to my knowledge,
considered the expanding universe in his
time travel tales.

The forecast for the next issue looks very
good. Binder and Jones are among the best
authors science fiction has to offer.

Here’s wishing you the best of luck. — 1745
Kenneth Road, Glendale, California.

CRITICISMS

By MiTfon A. Rothman

The February issue of WONDER is cer-.
tainly an improvement over the first issue.
And you have at least one improvement over
the old WONDER. I find that the answers
in .Science Questions and Answers are much
better than they formerly were. The Story
Behind the Story Department is also a wel-
come innovation. However, that cartoon,
“Zarnak,” is utterly worthless. There’s tpo
long a wait between episodes, and the story
itself is juvenile trash.

_ The best story in the issue is by an old-
timer, John Scott Campbell. His name
brings back memories of the dead past, and
stories like “The Infinite Brain’’ and “Be-
yond Pluto.’’ Incidentally, I am still mad at
Campbell for not giving us that much
awaited sequel to the latter story.

The other stories were good. Since you
are fast set upon your policy, I suppose I
cannot change it. But since most of the best
science fiction stories have been novels, you>
are losing out on them by not printing
serials.

About the cover. As art it is not so hot.
That mass of green representing a brain is
horrible. And the colors are a bit unat-
tractive. But the expressions on the faces
are the best I have ever seen on any cover.
— 2113 N. Franklin Street, Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania.

GUIDE TO SCIENCE KNOWLEDGE
ANSWERS

(See Page 86)

1— Page 17, In MENACE FROM THE MICRO-

COSM

2— Page 35, in THE MOLTEN BULLET

3— Page 57, In DARK SUN

4 — Page 66,' In DARCONDRA

5— Page 75, CHESSBOARD OF MARS

6 — Page 90, in RENEGADE

7— Page 93, In GREEN HELL

8— Page 94, in GREEN HELL

9— Page 114, In THE BLACK VORTEX

S50 for a Story

•T am glad to tell you that I
have been piogressing rapidly
with my course and have been
able to dispose of a few stories
and articles. My last story was
sold to O u t d o o r Life and
brought me $50.”

Cyril E. Grozelle,
Box 418, Halleybury,
Ontario, Canada.

How do you know

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94F3S7

S CIENCE fiction enthusiasts take
it more or less for granted that
other planets are inhabited, but
modern research has given us no defi-
nite and undisputed evidence of intelli-
gent life on any world save the Earth.

The giant planets, we are told, have
not yet attained to the life-supporting
period, while on Mercury life seems im-
probable. Although Mars and Venus
favor the presence of intelligent beings,
there is no evidence that such life
exists.

Does that mean we- represent the
only intelligent life in the universe?
The stupendous egotism of such a con-
clusion bids us pause.

But we may reasonably argue
against it.

AN ASTRONOMER'S ARGUMENT

Space -is strewn by millions of suns,
any of which may have its system of
planets. In this connection, we may
quote the argument of a famous astron-
omer on the mathematical theory of
probabilities.

Imagine a heap of one million grains
of corn — all white except one, which is
red. If a man, blindfolded puts out his
hand and takes one grain from the
heap, what are the chances that he will
pick the red grain, all grains sup-
posedly equally accessible? Just one
in a million !

Were death the penalty for the
choice of the red grain,, no sensible
man need hesitate to put forth his hand
under such conditions. But march the
1,500 millions of mankind past this
heap, each blindfolded, taking up and
dropping again one grain, and it is cer-
tain that 1,500 will pick the red grain.

The SCIENCE
FICTION LEAGUE

A department conducted for members of
the international SCIENCE FICTION
LEAGUE in the interest of science fiction
and its promotion. We urge members to
contribute any items of interest that they
believe will be of value to the organization.

EXECUTIVE DIRECTORS

FORREST J. ACKERMAN
EANDO BINDER
JACK DARROW
EDMOND HAMILTON
ARTHUR J. BURKS
RAY CUMMINGS
RALPH MILNE FARLEY
WILLIS CONOVER. JR.

Let us assume for one moment that
there are suns in space with attendant
planets, and make the chances one in a
million that the conditions to support
intelligent life are found on any planet.

With practical assurance we may
then pick out any star at random and
say that no life exists in that system.
But with even greater certainty we
may affirm that, among the thousands
of millions of suns, there are thousands
which have their retinue of worlds as
fitted for life as is our Earth.

GREAT STORIES TO COMEI
This month we are introducing the
first of Jack Binder’s series of scientific
speculations in his strip, IF! and there
will be another installment next issue.
Will you write and let us know what
you think of the feature?

The new T. W. S. is going into its
second year with the next issue. Great
things are planned for the forthcoming
numbers. Remember Ray Cummings’
famous old character, “Tubby”? He’ll
be back soon, in a new story by this
popular writer. And next month Ed-
mond Hamilton appears with a charac-
ter we’re- certain will appeal to you —
Crane of the Terrestrial Secret Service:
More features? Sure — an article on

122

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

123

the problems of space flying next
month, by P. E. Cleator, the British
authority. It’s brief and to the point,
accompanied with many interesting il-
lustrations. And there are more to
come — if you like them!

JOIN THE LEAGUE

Join the SCIENCE FICTION
LEAGUE! It’s a world organization
for followers of science and science fic-
tion — and it fosters that intangible
bond between all science fiction
readers. Just fill out the application
coupon on Page 128.

Members and chapters are every-
where, in all parts of the globe. They
correspond with one another, have
regular meetings, exchange reading
material.

To obtain a FREE certificate of
membership, tear off the name-strip on
the cover of this magazine, so that the
title of the magazine and the date
show, and send it to SCIENCE FIC-
TION LEAGUE, enclosing a stamped,
self-addressed envelope. We will, for-
ward you, in addition to the certificate,
further information concerning
LEAGUE activities.

Everybody — fans and followers —
write the editor of THRILLING
WONDER STORIES a letter every
month! We want all your opinions,
suggestions and criticisms. They
really help us!

TME S@DEN<SE ILEAGOE

— a department conducted for members of the International
Science Fiction Leaeue In the interest of BClcnco, science flctlon
and its promotion. We ur^e members to contribute any Items
of Interest that they believe will bo of vaJuo to tbe oreanlzation.

!niere are thousands of members In the League with about
forty chapters In this country and abroad, and more than that
number In the making all over the world. An application cou-
pon for readers who have not yet joined will bo found In this
department.

FOREIGN CHAPTERS

Leeds Science Fiction League (Chapter No. 17). Director.
Douglas W. F. Mayer, 20 Hoilln Park Rd.. Itoundhay. Leeds 8,
Vorkshlre. Fngland.

Belfast Science Fiction League (Chapter No. 20). Director.
Hugh C. Camwell. 6 Selina St.. Belfast, Northern Ireland.
Nuneatm Science Fiction league (Chapter No. 22), Director

M. K. Hanson. % Mrs. Brice, Main Hoad, Narborough. Lei-
cestershire, England.

Sydney Science FHctloo League (Chapter No. 27). Director,
W. J. J. Osland, 20 Union Street. Paddington. Sydney, N.SIW,.
Australia.

Glasgow Science Fiction League (Chapter No. 34). Director,
Donald O. Macllae. 36 Moray PI.. Glasgow. Scotland.

Barnsley Science Fiction League (Chapter No. 37). Director,
Jack Beaumont, 30 Pontefract Bond. Barnsley, Torkshlre. Eng-
land.

OTHER CHAPTERS

There are other domestic Chapters of the IiEAGUE, fully
organized with regular meetings, in Iho following cities. Ad-
dresses will he furnished upon request by IleadQuartera to mem-
bers who would like to join some local branch. Chapters are
listed chronologically according to Charter:

Lewiston, Ida.; Erie, Pa.: Ix» Angeles. Calif.; Monllcello,

N. Y. ; Mayfield. Pa,; Lebanon. Pa.; Jersey CUy, N. J.; Lin-
coln, Nebraska; New York. N. Y. ; Phllaxlclphla, Pa.; Oakland,
Calif.; Elizabeth, N. J. ; Chicago. III.; Tacoma, Wash.; Austin,

(Continued on page 124)

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Bi®®di°<S0tiiii7§g Stories

In Every Issue of

THRBLLING

MYSTERY

31®© — M

(Continued from page 123)

Tex.; MUlhlem. Pa.; Bloomington. lU. : Newark. N. J. : Stam-
ford, Conn.; Denver, Cblo. ; lAueport. C^llf. ; Ridgewood. N. Y. ;
Woodmere, N. Y. : Beckley. W. Va. ; Tuckahoe. N- Y. j South
Amboy, N. J. ; Pierre. S, Dak.; Albany. N. Y. ; and Boonton,
N. J.

CHAPTER NEWS AND GENERAL
ACTIVITIES

PHILADELPHIA CHAPTER

/ The Philadelphia Chapter of the SFL met,
A.«t always, at the home of Milton A. Rothman,
Chapter Director. Dierctor Rothman, as-
sisted, by two or three others, gave an account
of the S-F Convention doings for the benefit
of those who had not attended.

Willis Conover, Jr., was present at the meet-
ing. He read aloud two articles scheduled
for ari early appearance In Science-Fantasy
Correspondent, the S-P fan magazine. The
first of these items was Thomas S. Gardner's
A Critique of Science Fiction, whfeh discusses
the various science-fiction magazines — their
merits and faults — In an entirely new and
highly interesting manner.

Plans were made to purchase a mimeograph
machine with which to publish the Chapter
magazine, the Fantasy Fiction Telegram.
Several new League members Joined the
Chapter; and Exec. Dir. Conover was ap-
pointed an honorary member of the Phila-
delphia Chapter.

Meetings are held every other Saturday
evening at Director Rothman’s residence,
2113 N. Franklin Street. All readers of
Imaginative fiction In the Immediate vicinity
are cordially Invited to attend, or to com-
municate with Mr. Rothman at the above
address for further information.

MINNEAPOLIS CHAPTER

At the. preliminary meeting of the Minne-
apolis Chapter ,of the Science Fiction League,
held recently, members present were: Oliver
E. Saarl, who was elected' temporary Director;
Douglas Blakely, assistant director; John
Chapman, secretary; Robert Madsen treas-
urer; Russell McKinnon; Arden Benson; 'Vern
WInkelman; and Jack Burgess.

Honorary guests present at this meeting
were Mr. Donald Wandrel and Mr. Carl Jacobi,
well known science-fiction authors, who gave
interesting talks oh various 'sidelights of
fantasy fiction.

SFL members in the Twin Cities, who are
interested In joining this chapter, please get
in touch with Oliver Saarl, 1427 Logan Avenue
North, Minneapolis, Minn.

ENGLAND— CHAPTER 37'

Jack Beaumont, Director of Chapter 37, in
England, reports:

“We now total six, and a few outsiders,
and we meet regularly and discuss science
and science fiction. We are In touch with
all the other S-P fans' here in England, and
many in other countrl^.

“Our aim Is to build a ‘laboratory-library
hut* in which each member may exercise his
talent and Ideas In a practical manner. We
have, like most other Chapters, a library —
rather modest, yet to us — of great value and
interest, but up to now we are each taking
care of his own collection and hope to have
them all together in the near future. Anyone
wishing Information from any of our mem-
bers concerning our activities is urged to get
In touch with our secretary, R. Winder, or
our medical instructor, D. Slade — 30 Ponte-
fract Road, Barnsley, Yorkshire,' England.**

NEW MEMBERS
UNITED STATES

B. SIoanerl427 2nd No., Seattle, Wash. • Bob
Beauchamp 914 E. 20th Ave., Denver, (jolo.;
Keren J. vlThite, Wautoma, Wis.; Albert A.

(Continued on page 126)

The New

©@LL

124

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IMPORTANT: No "swaps" of back magasine issues
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The Magazine of
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NOW ON SALE AT

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iOc

At AH Stands

THE SCIENCE FICTION LEAGUE

(Continued from page 124)

Siclaras, 65 Lltlegow St., Dorchester, Mass.;
Constance Lockard, 4140 Charlotte, Kansas
City, Mo.; Bob BarnetL 1S18 So. Maple St.,
Carthage, Mo.; Leora Belery, 132 Jewel St.,
Munlalng, Mich.; Jack Tarbell, 73 Whitney
Ave., New Haven, Conn.; Harry Morton, 1220
Smead St., Loganyjort, Ind. ; Robert L. Jones,
4434 Winona Denver, Colo.; L*a Rae John-
son, 428 N. Prospect St., RockforiT III.; Helen
Klerzkowski, WoodcllfT Inn., R. D. 1, Clarks
Summit, Paj Jack Johnson, 3009 N. Swanson
Btr., Phlla, Pa.; Dr. Samuel Gottfried, 226 Jay
St., Sacramento, Calif.; Thomas York, 257 w.
113 St.. N. T.. N. T.; George Markus, Jr., 537
Ohio, St., Dayton, Ohio; W. C. Rogus, 701 Mul-
berry St., Evansville, Ind.; Frederick Daugs,
Monona, Iowa; Norman Pastor, 1728 Grand
Ave., Dayton, Ohio: James Davidson, 520

Branard, Houston, Texas; Alfred Anderson,
Rt. U Box 49C, Florin, Calif.; Lester Bennett,
601 Bird Ave., Buffalo. N. T. ; L. Maran, 210 W.
101 St., N. T. C.; John M. Clewls, Jr., 1333 W.
Jackson Blvd., Chicago, 111.; Arthur Mack,
'3666 E. 156, Shaker Heights, Ohio; John
Gwlnn, 264 9th St., Troy, N. x. ; Harold Schaef-
fer, 1320 Fulton Ave., N. T., N. T.; C. E.
Forst, 227 S. Peck Dr., Beverly Hills, Calif.;
Alonzo Blake, 68 Mornlngslde Ave., N. Y. C.;
John B. Michel, 2223 Cortelyou Rd,, Brooklyn,
N. T.; Herluf Jensen, c/o H. O. Jensen, D.S.R.,
El Campo, Texas; Jimmy Shuey, Unlonville,
Mo.; Leonard Vogel, 1760 Ocean Parkway,
Brooklyn, N. T.; w. Mayne, 2081 Arch, Phlla-,
Pa.; A- R. Long, 2036 N. Fifth St., Harrisburg.
Pa.: Caslmlr Pierog, 7603 Osage Ave., Cleve-
land. Ohio; William J. Noble, 301 .Cedarhurst
St., Pittsburgh, Pa.; Myron Weinberg, 3554
Rochambeau Ave., Bron^ N. Y. ; Robert Simon,
Box 335, Gueydan, La.* Carl Robinson, R.R. 1,
Box 22, Morganfleld, ICy.: Alex Chanin, 1461
Crotona PI., Bronx, N. Y.; Harry Smejkal,
3810 Campbell Dr., N. Y., N. Y.; James Metts,
411 Carlton Ave., Brooklyn, N. T. ; Wm.
Howard, 1 W. Lowell St., Lawrence, Mass.;
Jack C. McQuese, 2323 Rowan St., Louisville,
Ky. ; T. B. Terke, 157 N. Alexandria Ave., Los
Angeles, Calif.; Chester Hoey, 441 1st St.,
Brooklyn, N. T.* Robert Miles, 456 Cleveland
St., Woodland, Calif.; H. Blermann, 3130. Lin-
coln Ave., Chicago,' 111.; Everett DeGuzzie, 3
Bundy Ave., Bath, N. Y.

Aubrey M. Brundlck, 4005 Carlisle Ave.,
Baltimore, Md. ; Edward V. Kownack, 820 E.'
168 SL, Bronx, N. Y. ; Howard Cooper, 7 Jacoby
St., Maplewood, N. J. ; Jack Gray, 3430 Le.n-
franco, Los Angeles, Calif.; Kenneth Meeks,
841 N. Latrobe Ave., Chicago, 111.; E. A. Wit-
mer, P.O. Box 194, Republic, Mo.; Will Won-
ner, 739 E. Boundary Ave., York, Pa.; Eugene
Favillo, 112 Franklin Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y.;
Marvin Cohn, 138 S. Maryland Ave., Atlantic
City, N. J.; Frederick H. Schmidt, Jr., Pala-
cios, Texas; Havey S. Lockwood, Co. K. 19th
Inf., Selo Bks., T. H.; Virgil D. Smith, 3430
Lanfranco St., L. A., Calif.; A. Denson, 4 E.
Main St., Rockville, Conn.; Anthony Dominick,
17-^ St. Johns PI., N. Y. C. ; Isidore Slepack.
43 Christopher Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y., Alfred
C. Denson, 20 Davis Ave., Rockville, Conn.;
Jock Hammlll, 1362 Eastwood Ave., Columbus,
Ohio; Charles Cox, Box 762, McCamey, Texas;
T. Bruce Terke; 137 N. Alexandria, Los An-

f eles, Calif.; Walter Saedlow, 2022 N. Spaul-
Ing, Chicago, 111.; Thomas W. Ramsey, 110
S. Washington St., Lock Haven, Pa.; Virgil
S. Pollock, 1742 Erie St., Toledo, Ohio; Ber-
nard Kramllch, 88 Jefferson Ave., Oshkosh,
Wise.; Wm. Stubbs, 652 W. 189 St., N. Y., N. Y.;
Jack G-lllesple, 84 Wadsworth Terrace, N. Y.,
N. Y. ; Hal Blermann, 1463 George St-, Chicago,
111.; Alvin Reed, 86 Ash St:, Ludlow, Ky. ; B.
Wlmen, Jr., 624 Worth St., Pittsburgh, Pa.;
Gilbert Dancy, 123 Lancaster St., Albany, N.
T.; Charles Ia Cottrell, 27 Dunnond Ave., Red
Bank, N. J.; lareal Marks, 837 Albany St.,
Schenectady, N. Y. ; Walter Simpson, 4128 N.

(Continued on page 128)

126

Scientifilm Review

MONEYS BIKE!

THE MAN WHO COULD WORK MIR-
ACLES. A London Films production. Pro-
duced by Alexander Korda, directed by Lo-
thar Mendes, featuring Roland Young. From
a story by H. G. Wells.

A typical Wellsian fantasy, intelli-
gently, handsomely and delightfully
done — with a stupendous situation, a very
average human figure, and a moral. '

A shabby little shop assistant finds that he
can perform miracles. His first modest am-
bition — conjuring in music-halls — is compli-
cated by the meddlings of a selfish girl, a
banker, a preacher and a Tory colonel. He
suddenly realizes his power and, as a self-
made Prince of the world, brings before him
all bosses of finance, government and man-
ners for a conference.

Here the film achieves stature. Upon the
captains and kings this new master pours
his criticism and invective — an indictment of
a bad old world by an average man who,
long hurt and helpless, has become suddenly
powerful and articulate. It is a long speech,
trumoeting and scathing, and not once does
it drag. His final cry, “Rule the world bet-
ter or I’ll wipe you all out," is the high point
of the piece.

Then the Wellsian moral: dazzled with his
own power, the miracle- worker comn..
the Earth to cease revolving — and all is
spectacular chaos. Flying through space, he
has only time and strength to wish every-
thing back on a pre-miracle basis. But this
lesson fails; you of the audience are more
apt to dream of the miracles you’d do in the
shop-assistant’s stead.

Score one for Producer Alexander Korda,
who is probably the greatest and most adroit
fi^re in films today. Roland Young, as the
miracle man, tints the role with his usual
stylized restraint and charm. Ralph Rich-
ardson is splendid in his characterization of
the staffy colonel, and Ernest Thesiger irks
artistically as the minister. The sets offer
an English atmosphere that all Hollywood
could not achieve.

And the miracles — from the first uneasy
juggling of a lamp in a public-house to the
final destruction of Earth — are the meat of
the picture for all lovers of the fantastic and
the startling.

— M. W. W.

NeK^ issue

HIFT m li^RNBTY
A CompBefe Novelette
of Absolute Space

iy PAUL ERNST

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^ TI T1 ■(r TT /QiTyO ^TVO C5

THE SCIENCE FICTION LEAGUE

(Continued from page 126)

5 th St., Phila^ Pa.; Morris Stavisity. 598
Howard Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. ; Bert Christy,
802 Worthington PI., Omaha, Nebr.; Roger C.
Patrick, 732 Birch Drive, Mason Ciy<\ Iowa;
Howard Myers, 16%-^ Burke St., Winston-
Salem, N. C. ; Alex S. Mroz, 262 Lowell St.,
Manchester, N. H.

NEW MEMBERS
CANADA

Keith Young, Lunenburg, Nova Scotia,
Canada; Walter R. T. Romain, Box 49, Wild-
wood, Alberta, Canada; Edward Townsend,
New Waterford, C. B., N. S. ; Frank Lloyd,
Cordova, Mines, Ont., Cana.; J. Ferguson
Stewart, 1090 Laurier Ave.i W., Outremont,
Quebec, Canada; Peter Whalley, 2327 W. 35th
Ave., Vancouver, B. C., Canada; Alfred L.
Foster, 183 % Sherbourne St., Toronto, Cana.;
L. Middleton, Suite La Rosslyn Ct., 109 St.,
Edmonton, Alta, Cana.

ENGLAND

Eric Miller, 14 Princes Court, Wembley,
Middlesex, Eng.; Harold J. Blakeley, 97 Can-
ning Rd., Wealdstone, Middlesex, Eng.; Jack
Levvin, 46 Rose Hill Terrace^ Brighton, 7 Sus-
sex, Eng.; Fred .L. Jackson, 52 Daffodil Rd.,
Farnsworth, Lrfinchashire, Eng.; John B. Jep-
son, Sunnyhurst, Leyland Rd., Nuneaton, War-
wicks, Eng.; P. W. Burnell, 9 Bulstrode Ave.,
Hounslow, Middlesex, Eng.

I APPyCATION FOR MEMBERSHIP

1 SCIENCE FICTION LEAGUE

I Science Fiction League,

I 22 W. 48th St., New York, N. Y.

: I wish to apply for membership in

I the SCIENCE FICTION LEAGUE.

° I pledge myself to abide by all rules
° and regulations.

Name

(Print Legibly)

Address

Prostate gland acute or chronic, rheumatism, kidney
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THRILLING WONDER STORIES
and the date can be seen). You will
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15c Everywhere

128

^ENTON and Blake are back again in
a new story of interplanetary explora-
tion!

In THE DOUBLE MINDS, a new nov-
elette by JOHN W. CAMPBELL, Jr, they
discover an alien form of life even stranger
than the thushol of Mars — the shleath of
Ganymede! It’s an absorbing story of
scientific secrets.

l.j^IVE men and two girls speed through
the stratosphere high over the Rockies.
Suddenly, without an instant’s warning the
altimeter registers — nothing! Seven souls are
lost in the unknown of absolute space!

That’s the dramatic start of RIFT IN
INFINITY, a new novelette by PAUL
ERNST. It’s a thrilling story of a cosmic
slip that could happen but once in a life-
time !

* *

(^TIS ADELBERT KLINE’S novelette
^ for next month, THE IRON WORLD,
pictures a future continent inhabited by
thinking automatons. But in a secret labo-
ratory in a remote comer of the land one
master scientist, with a mechanical body
and a living brain, plots a robot rebellion
to overthrow forever the last of the human
race — and make the earth a planet where
only the metal men reign!

■K^ATTHEW YORK’S chemical-stained
lyil fingers caressed a thin test-tube filled
with a sparkling, radiant fluid'. Man’s key
to immortality — the elixir of youth — ^lay im-
prisoned in that liquid. What should he do
with it? Give it to 'the world— or destroy
it? CONQUEST OF LIFE, a powerful
novelette of laboratory magic, by EANDO
BINDER, gives you the amazing answer.

All these, and stories by Edmond Hamil-
ton and many others, are scheduled for the
next issue. In addition, an article on space
[travel by P. E. Cleator, and another install-
lent of the brand-new. fascinating feature,
tF.

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I and faselnallr^ zrare of
i.<i(Ap’nFetc1>lt.F^d Astaire
?lc. Tap dance In O.S'I V 6
HOUn.Siiy a new slmplinod
course by Prof. Wi Uon. No
soerl.il abllliy needed. Be
smaril EvervboOv'.s tap.
“'nz. Thewhoioiownls
lanplng. Deal out a
tune with voiir feel.
SlOillmtratioRB
Hoa^ssealoveli.Frlcndsadore

It. Oesiries. Lap dancing is not
only InvigoratiiiK nnd enter.

Ulnintt but is alsoaliealthful

yerclse for miiklnpthe limbs sup.
p.esnd Cl vintr a "sprlnev” recline
rr. whole bodv. Pro.

™ie* eiimncsa nature’s way— no
Pllls.drutrsordletlncr. Readersaav:
»-• -wopdorful benelVl. Th.snk you
for adding tapuanelne corny accomp-
- l.shTienia.’' Pries 2Sc pestoaid
Cloth bound library edition 40c

|| Afew y*it Pocket

'Adding Machine

Adda, auberaeu, multiplies, di-
vides. Does work ofacoaily ma-
rine. Ten million canaclly.

. Simpla and. accurate. NOT A
TOY’ Easy to opei ato. No keys
to punch, no lever to pull. Total
always vivibte. Guaranteed for 5
years. LlRhlplnz colculalor and
llmeanver. Construciedofsteel
cnsunngsirengih.durabl lily and

reliabUiiy. Lnsta a nfellme.
Compact and lichl. Weli{hi7ciz.

I Will .'ll right In vest pocket
and can be rarrled about Et Cft
enience. SxOln. Price . . #1.9U

Pocket Radio $1.00

Amazing midget radio Als In
pockeu Weight 2 cm. Smaller
ihon • clca ette
package. Separ-
atoa. and receives
all stations with
beautiful. clear
lone. Range SO
miles — grealor
under goud oon-
dlllone. No sta.
uc or noise. Noth-
ing to wear out— lasts
r years. No crystals
adjust. New sensitive
and hl-efTtelenev

design. Not a

In bod. ...

Without phone. Price $1.00. Single i-none
Etoubte Phone Headset »t to w.v.'.J??,'!*

onicilcai radio.
• -""ces. auioa

anywhere.

cut And
Instructions
0 assemble
<hese 'moccasins
<omforlable

Complets blueprints lor 3 dlf-
fAf*"* racers. The one lllus-
traced can be built for a few
dollars. AJI about racer
PATts, gears, tranamis-
siona, dirt track rac-
“"a. track raguia-
Uona, blueprints,
plana, how to add
,a motor to your
bike at Mtls cost,
increasing epeed,
etc., etc. Cram-
med A Jammed
— ^fullotinformollon
Oyer 75 niustratlons. plane A blueprlDte.
COMPLETE BOOK, only 2Sc.

Delua e cloth b ound library edition, 40e.

JU-JITSU|S?:Te“d* 30=/

The Japanese artofaclf.dcfenac*

New .methods of attack and
defense jire given: Illu.straU'd
so that you cannot fall U
undorsund them. Deals fuliv
''’•lb trins. throws. wrisiV
locks, .body holds, defense Y
against revolvers, sarngllng, \
armiocke, aci.ssors. eplILs. J
headlock. holding a mar ^
doum, double kneo throw,
aiiek attack, defense againsi
knife, one honj throat grip,
defense against two assail-
. stomach throw, secret
thumb knockout. .nerve
pinches, and numerous oihcra.

Loam to protect yourself un-
mstaiu'es with
Pear no

lalure’

l.Th. guns ,;.v,vr|.

of Ju Jliau" Only 30e,
Pound library «

learn TO HYPNOTIZE

|See how oa.silv you e.-in mavic>-
ithe eerreis of fiypnoilsm and
strange power, .swav others nl
i 0 lhers*”conS -'^1 the thoughts of
and be the master of every a'uu’.
in. Make others love you,
engihen vour will power, h.in

2Se

boung liQrarv edition. 40e.

CHAMELtON 25c

h fear and v
Cloth I

WATCH IT CHANGE COLORI

Get one^of these most wonderful of all oea-
Wear one cm the lapel of your coabas a curiosity
...^® . •roLblo to keep. Can go for

months without food,
ped to any address In \
• and I

Hi-Powered Air Pistols

A iMwcrful nigh
grade Air Pistol
shaped like an .
automatic, pocket
alee. Fires B B
shot obtainable any-
where. Very powerful -
perfwtly safe for bovsiohan. 1
die. Two stylos. Single shot I
■— Hcreite-. Tho Re- 1
1 00 Shota In one I
The Mngle Shot”

Platol

ShoL Well made

With e bunch of t^ese bills It
easy tor AperaonofUmltcd
r-an. prosperous by

|.( *,3r^ruua D|

Dashing a rol I of these hi I la
' f* ‘"?.P'’‘>Pertime and peel.
Ingoff agenulnobill or two
r^mihcouLsldcofihe roll.
The effect Created will be
found lo tw all uiaiean M
dexlrcHl, Prieea: 40 billa

- H»49-

niriAtiort' tenter
piece nulck. One
finger fnOuaalng.^

Permlla full, un-.i
hamoered, two b
eyed viaion that 'll
glvea remarliabld n
• cope and clarity.

Ewell for nature atu-
rty, hiking, aports, and
• million Other thlngi. ...
Complete with cord, 4|0 i
packed In bog. ONLv"*wC|

outdoors, nature - etudy.
cnorts, looking St the moon.

ertod Into Solar Ulescepe b]
— ymj canseo a,
Pr.ee 23c. i

THRIFT Vi

A 3 dial aafe lock And Vault I
Bank, Just dial the three
numbers and open tho
vault Just like ' any
safe. Big and roomy-lt
measures Bbout4g3 In. J
Swell lo keep your /
money. Jewelry, etc. In. f

THRIFT VAOLTSl... .
liar In appearAnce lo * _

the^abovo onijr made t^wel. _|

boystboysibo

^ THROW YOUR VOICI

^ Into o tPnnk» under the bed or niiTTvhere* Loti
^of fan (oollns tenchert policeman or friends*

THE WONDERFUL VENTRILO

A little Instrument. tlt« In the month out of
Slight. UHed with above for Bird Calln. etc. Anroi
I can ase It. Never falls. A complete book with 4 /
iifnll coarse on Ventrlloqulam together with ll|

the Vontrllo. Sent poetpnld for only.

ELECTRITE PENCIL

wrllea in gold,
fed. yellow, purple, green
■ leather, wnod.poper,
Ik. rubber.
Pyl your name. mono.
■ ' gold or any

blue.etc..^..

bakelltc.cellophane. silk, rubber'
etc., etc. Pul yp.— - — --
er.im or Inlliali

can '■rnegtracashoasilybvdo

. 1 .:^,- for other people. Every

A nkmeor monoT
pram on an article -
iiy get 25c for it. v«.--.LL*umimBi
V*' «’’<'^bl few seconds
time! Justpluginel.

vet Itcosisal.

il!2?’

light aoekeland the

... ILEcfRITE

Is ready to write.

ng dcniors. Only $|.00

CCC RING

Everyone warns to
vear thit big ring
with the red. blue
ind gold emblem aur-
•ounded by the Amer-
ican Eaglel Hdndaomc-
Ijpollshed. Stale
Silver ai

U.S.NAVY RING UK""

, 25e

Bterlrn^^ Rlnfl.

appearance

. - COC ring,

USN In bold relief with anchor. Silver *ap^
pearanee, 2Se. Sterling Silver. $1.00. 14 ht

' with Sterling trwblem, $1,7$.

US ARMY RING simitar to CCC ring, only

u.o.Hnmi ninu Army emblem. A

large, oversize ring. Silver appearance, 3Se.
«»-llng Silver, $1.00. 14 ht Oold With

img Emblem, an effective contrast. $1.7B

AVIATION RING similar to CCC ring, with
Hvmiiun Ifinb Aviation Emblem. a
•nappy ring that you will be |

14 hi. Oold, Price 1

STEAM ENGINE

‘'T'

1. h

A’atc.. .... ....... „„...

Id hc.ir tho engine puffing
swam up. Light
no boiler with water, and
r minutes It le blazing
ipapeedl Runs for hours
-... -.;c..lMng and will >un amall
toys off Uio fly wheel. Foolproof,
harrr^ae. fully tested and guar-

antee safe a

WONDERFUL X-RAY 10c

GREAT CURIOSITVl With It
you can apparently aee the
tones in the flngere. lead Ina
pencil, even the flesh seema
trarupareni. Alwaysrcadyfor \MHfI>l
use. Only 10 c ppd. VB"

Boy Electrician

New model
— cann<^

Telia

. several col-
which rune on
hesG 3Se. II-
pestp ai •*

Mlio baitei? I
fnotora. radios. '
teloCTaoh aoparatus. tolcPhonca.ia
Electric bells, alarms.^
.fisetric engine.H, etc. 04 pbm>
100 Illustra tions. Price p^tpgty*

FUN LICENS

nm.

Lat^

pnn

aiiiii

Han)

youi

will

(You!

Lie?

Dipl

Cert

rcall

®"i^.®'9Q*ra A Oraf
On* Armed pr.vera a Nechert

teMificate: Arrest Warrant: C<
Dog Liccnae;_ Odld Mine St

Open Any I

pL'Ik forget vour

‘fotoblymanyiimoe. Don'two
moreabouUosike.vs (w anvk
R3Lheae master ke
open almost any ordinary lock

i^^nM »>X * *3'’® *J*®*f It’
■ j*?? but you'll ir

handy that you’U

SMASTER KEYSPricM

■ object, emits rays or wh
I Ing It visible In ihodark

■ night— the brighter list
use— you can do itl Ap'
dial of your watch so vol

.iT,-;::: — nlghL Palm pushbutco'

RiPEATro GSm

[AutomaHcrep

lihat win fire i
lone loadlngl
wacy. Bulls'

oga,21 Pilules-

■ lems. Comic rccltailoiu. 1
iw Parlor Pastimes. 13 pi
fhelr Meanings. 1
zlea. 37 Amusing ^nerlme
Dum^Alphabet. .Shadowgraphy

CJrz

r-\

SCRATCHIN

According to the Government '-Health Bulletin
No. E-28 at least 50% of the adult population of
the United States are being attacked by the disease
known as Athlete’s Foot.

There are many other names given, to this dis-
ease, but you can easily tell if you have it.

Usually the disease starts between the toes. Lit-
tle watery blisters form and the skin cracks and
peels. After a while the itching 'becomes intense
and you feel as though you would like to scratch
off all the skin.

Pi'OOa")

Send Coupon-Don1 Pay fill Relieved

. Often the disease travels all over the bot-
tom, of- the feet. The soles of your feet be-
come red and swollen. The skin also cracks
and peels, and the itching becomes worse and
worse.

It has been said that this disease origi-
nated' in the trenches, so some people call
it Trench Foot. Whatever name you
give* if; however, the thing to do is' to
get rid of it .as quickly as possible, be-
.cause it is very contagious and it may
go to your hands or even to the un-
,'der arm, or. crotch of- the legs.

'•'■Most people who have 'Athlete’s
Fdot‘!',have tried all kinds of reme-
dies- "to cure it without success.

Ordinary germicides, antiseptics,
salve or ointments seldom
do any good.

GORE PRODUCTS, INC.,’F F' ‘ ’

890 Perdido St., New OrleansI ' La..

•’F • \ .dr.'.r

Please ''send me immediately a complete treatment for foot trouble^"^
as described above. J a/.Mee lo use.it accortlln^' to' direcilotis. . If at'.'
•ffh'e end of If) day.s ’'ffiy feel are ffettiiiS) better i will send you Sl.OO. •
Jf I am. not ' entirely 'satisfied I uill ictuifi Hie unu.sed portion of,.'
His botde' to.you iritbin 1.5. clays from dhe’^time 1 receive it.

JEmm 2® 'ir[p®si2 22

The germ that causes the disease is known as Tinea
Trichophyton. It buries itself deep iii the tissues of
the skin and is very hard to kill. A test made shows
that it takes 20 minutes of boiling to kill tlie germ,
so you can see why the ordinary
remedies are unsuccessful,

H. F. was developed solely for the
purpo.se of trentiug Athlete’.s Foot.
It is a liquid that penetrates and
dries quickly. You just paint
the affected parts. It peels off
the infected skin and work.«
Its way deep into the tissue
of the skiu where the germ
breeds.

n2®I]n2i!ng]^2®ipg

As soon as you apply FT. F
you will find that the itching
i.s ininiediately'’ relieved.
should paint the infected • parts
with H. F. night and morning until
your feet are well. Usually this
takes from three to ten days, although
in severe cases it may take longer -or in
mild ca.ses less time.

H. F. will leave the skin soft and smooth. You will
marvel at the (|uick way it brings you relief ; especiallj
If 3'ou are one of those who have tried for years to gel
rid of Athlete’s Foot without success.

IFo §®i8

, '■

•A iinimss..

vS'-'

ret

ST'ATR. .
/

Sigh and mall the coupon and a bottle of H. P. will

be miiiled you iimiiedijitely. Doii’t seiid any money and

don’t pay the postman any money, don’t pay anvthing
liny time unle.ss H. K. i.s lifilpiiig you. It it doe's help
you we know that yon will lie y.liui to send us $1.00
lor tlie treatment at the etid of fen days. That’s howl

coupinFdiir r

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Full text of "Thrilling Wonder Stories v09n03 (1937 06)"

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